One Night in Hammelburg: A Girls' Own Adventure
by dust on the wind
Summary: It was just supposed to be a simple catch-up between friends. But in Hammelburg, things never seem to stay simple for long...
1. Chapter 1

_I do not own any of the characters from the series Hogan's Heroes. However, I claim ownership of any original characters appearing in this story._

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><p>"Well, he hasn't changed since you last saw him. And he's sweet about it, but of course he's only flirting. It doesn't mean anything."<p>

Hildegard ran one finger around the rim of her glass, tilting her head a little as she considered how very little meaning there actually was in any professions of affection from the gentleman in question.

"Oh, it never did. If I'd ever taken him seriously, he'd have run so fast, he'd have been first man into Stalingrad," replied Helga.

They both giggled at the thought.

"It would almost be worth it, just to see him running," observed Hilda. "I don't think I've ever seen him get above a quick waddle."

"You can't have seen him with his wife." Helga's eyes were still laughing. "Believe me, when she turns up, Schultz starts moving, in the opposite direction." She sighed, momentarily overtaken by nostalgia. "You know, I miss the place sometimes. Well, the people, anyway. Some of them."

"Kommandant Klink?" Hildegard glanced up at her, a mischievous smile dancing across her face. Helga just wrinkled her nose in distaste. That didn't deserve a response at all.

It was almost a year since they'd last seen each other, but their friendship remained just as warm as ever. It hadn't started well. The first day, when Hildegard had walked into Stalag 13 and introduced herself as Helga's replacement, the mood had been very cool indeed. The two had sized each other up, formed instant opinions, and smiled sweetly.

_...and those aren't her own eyelashes, either._

_Natural blonde? Oh, really?_

But over the course of a week, as the departing secretary instructed her successor in the ways of the Kommandant's office, first impressions had given way, and by the time Helga departed for her new home in Wiesbaden, they were almost as close as sisters. And when Helga made a return visit, to attend a family wedding, of course she had to find some time to catch up with Hilda, even if it was only for an hour, over a glass of wine at the Café Mandelbaum in Hammelburg, before she went to catch the train.

Outside, a shower of spring rain, and an unseasonal cold wind, threw a chill over the dark streets; but the bright cheerful atmosphere of the little café, and the warmth of good company, kept the gloom at bay.

"I do miss some of the prisoners, now and then," Helga went on reminiscently. "The little French one - what was his name again? He was nice."

"Oh, yes, I know who you mean. He cooks sometimes for the Kommandant, and always puts something aside for me."

Helga glanced down at her glass, a little smile playing on her lips. "What about Colonel Hogan? How do you find him?"

"I don't. He finds me," replied Hildegard.

Helga looked up, struck by the change in her tone. "You know, he doesn't really mean it, either," she remarked.

"I know. But I'm working on him."

"Good luck," murmured Helga. _She __doesn't __have __a __hope_, she thought. All the same, her manner cooled a little as she considered the odds.

As the conversation paused, a woman went past their table on her way to the powder room. Helga, glancing at her as she walked by, noticed only how tall she was, how elegantly exotic her clothing, and how feline her movements. But Hilda's lips thinned as she caught sight of the stranger.

"And I thought this place had standards," she said, her voice dropping towards freezing point.

Helga's eyes widened. "Who is she?"

"She's Russian. Calls herself Marya. No last name, just Marya. She floats into town every so often, draped all over some officer or other, then she flings herself at Colonel Hogan - or the Kommandant - and there's always trouble." It wasn't often Hilda spoke in such spiteful accents.

"What kind of trouble? You don't mean...?" Helga didn't finish the question, but she knew Hilda understood what she was asking. There was one aspect of working at Stalag 13 which she'd never brought up during Hilda's training, but she was pretty sure someone else would have introduced the new secretary to it within a short time of her arrival.

"Serious trouble, for everyone."

Hilda sent a smouldering glare at the Russian as she returned. The woman didn't seem at all put out, meeting it with a smile of pure amusement.

"Have we met before?" she asked, in a slow, low-pitched voice, heavily accented. The only reply from Hilda was a sweet, false simper.

"Of course," Marya went on. "You work at Stalag 13, with Klink. Tell me, how is that adorable man?"

"Which one?" Hilda threw back at her. The foreigner's eyes glittered, but she seemed happy to leave the question in doubt.

She glanced at Helga curiously, but didn't ask for an introduction, and Hildegard didn't enlighten her. This was also food for amusement, apparently; a hint of laughter lurked in Marya's voice as her eyes turned back towards Hilda. "Charming to see you again, darling,"

"So nice," was all the Kommandant's secretary said, her tone suggesting _nice_ was a euphemism, and not a particularly accurate one.

There was an uncomfortable silence after the woman had moved on. Then Hilda gave herself a little shake. "I shouldn't let her get to me. It's spoiled the evening. I'm sorry, Helga."

"I didn't like her, either," admitted Helga. "She was laughing at us."

"She's always like that," said Hildegard.

Helga giggled. "Aren't some women awful? There's one I work with in Wiesbaden - she always calls me Helena, just as if - " Her voice stopped abruptly, and her eyes widened. Then she went on, casually, but in a very soft voice. "Gestapo just walked in."

Hilda's expression didn't change, but the electric tension which had just seized every nerve in her body manifested visibly in the sudden closing of her fingers around the stem of her wine glass. "Who is it?"

"I've never seen him before," murmured Helga. "Shortish, dark hair, has a moustache, looks mean."

The description wasn't exactly specific - most Gestapo looked mean - but Hilda's lips pursed with nervous agitation. "I don't want to look, in case he sees me," she whispered, "but it sounds like it might be..."

"Hochstetter, darling!" The slow, drawling voice of the Russian woman, Marya, rang out across the sudden silence which had greeted the new arrival. "I thought you'd never get here."

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><p><em>Note: Hilda is addressed as "Fräulein Hildegard" by Klink in "The Collector General". This raises the possibility of "Hilda" being a diminutive. To distinguish her more clearly from Helga, she will be occasionally referred to as "Hildegard" in this story.<em>


	2. Chapter 2

"I knew she couldn't be trusted." Hildegard spoke under her breath, her voice rippling with indignation. "What's she doing?"

"She's hugging him," replied Helga, keeping her head lowered, peeking through her eyelashes. "I don't think he likes it."

Hochstetter extricated himself from the embrace with an air of confused embarrassment, and glared around the crowded room, daring anyone to laugh at him, while Marya, not in the least discouraged, put a hand on his shoulder, and snuggled up.

"Detestable man!" muttered Hilda. "How any woman could even touch him...!"

She breathed out, and tried to compose herself. "Helga, you know about...about what goes on at Stalag 13? Well, Hochstetter thinks he knows, too, and he's spent the last year trying to prove it. If that Russian woman is talking to him..."

"She's not just talking," interrupted Helga tartly.

Hilda bit her lip. "I don't like it," she said quietly.

There was a moment of silence, as each of the two tried to work out where the other stood in regard to the activities of Colonel Hogan and his men. Looking the other way while Hogan pulled off some scheme or other was one thing; dealing with this situation would require something more. In effect, treason.

Helga's thoughts had turned to her cousin's wedding, the day before, and a long, rather dull conversation she'd had with an aged relative of the bride. She hadn't really paid much attention, but one sentence had stuck: _They shouldn't be starting a family in this country_...

It was true. There was a sickness infecting Germany, and Colonel Hogan and his men were part of the cure. If she truly loved her country, surely her duty must be to make sure they had the chance to do their work.

She glanced at Hilda, but couldn't tell what was on her mind. Maybe she was thinking much the same, although her personal involvement with the American colonel was probably an additional factor. At all events, she looked up, met Helga's wide, anxious gaze, and whispered, "We have to do something."

"Is there any way to contact Colonel Hogan?" asked Helga.

She wasn't surprised when Hildegard shook her head. "Not without actually going there, and how would I explain it to the Kommandant? I never work nights. And besides, the prisoners are all in the barracks by this time. I'd never be able to talk to them." She paused, thinking hard. "What are they doing now?"

"She's talking, he's listening. And he's smiling." Helga fell silent, watching the couple. Their heads were close together, confidentially, like lovers; but there was no warmth in the looks exchanged between them.

Then Hochstetter moved back slightly, gave a very precise bow, and another of those calculating smiles, and left. Marya's eyes followed him, then she finished her glass of wine, and made her own departure.

_Now what should we do?_ Helga and Hildegard looked at each other, both thinking the same thought.

"We ought to find out where she is staying," said Hilda after a few moments. "Then if we can think of a way to let Colonel Hogan know..."

"You mean, follow her?" Helga pursed her lips, and her perfectly arched eyebrows came closer together. "We'll have to hurry, in that case."

Marya appeared to have vanished from sight by the time they made it outside, and Helga came to a standstill, gazing around in bewilderment. There were plenty of passers-by, huddled in dark raincoats, but no sign of the Russian.

"That way," said Hildegard sharply. "She just went round the corner."

"Are you sure it was her?" Helga had already started off in the direction her friend had indicated.

Hilda gave a scornful giggle. "Who else would be wearing silver fox furs in April?"

The fur coat certainly helped; it was easy to spot among the drably-dressed citizens of Hammelburg. And Marya didn't appear to be in a hurry to get where she was going; in spite of the busy streets, and the inexperience of the two girls at this sort of thing, they had no trouble keeping their target in sight. At least, until Helga stumbled, her foot slipping on the rain-slicked cobbles.

"I'm fine," she said, in reply to Hildegard's anxious queries. "But the heel's come off my shoe."

She stood holding the damaged article of footwear in her hand. "You go ahead. Don't lose her now. I'll catch up."

Hilda wavered for a couple of seconds, before she set off again in pursuit. It was not so easy to keep her resolve, now she was alone. She was more frightened than she wanted Helga to guess; she didn't just detest Hochstetter, she was terrified of him. That in itself was a strong incentive to keep going. If the Gestapo ever uncovered everything going on at Stalag 13, it wasn't just Hogan and his men who would suffer; the Kommandant, all of the guards, and Hilda herself would be swept up in the reprisals. Still, she had to pause for a moment, trying to steel her nerves. Her instincts were pleading with her to get away, as fast as she could. But there was nowhere to hide from the Gestapo. And she couldn't leave Colonel Hogan - Robert - and his men to their fate without at least trying to help.

Returning to the chase, she realised that while she had been arguing with herself, Marya had gone out of sight. Hilda hastened to catch up. She hesitated yet again at the first corner, a narrow, mediaeval street leading towards the old market. But there was no other turning for some distance; Marya must have gone this way. With a little shiver, Hildegard followed.

It was dark here, and quiet, and nobody was in sight. The tall, narrow buildings, with their crooked timbering, empty windows and peeling facades, seemed to lean inwards over the top of her head. She felt as if they were looking at her, and she moved closer to one side, unconsciously seeking shelter. There was no sign of Marya.

_I've lost her,_ thought Hilda. _I should go back_. But she kept on.

Then, without warning, her arm was seized in a firm grip, and before she knew what was happening, she was pulled into a tiny alleyway between two houses. She gave a shriek, and instinctively turned to fight off whatever kind of attack this might be.

"Don't bother, darling." The voice, deep in pitch, was familiar. Hilda blinked, as she recognised the Russian's slow drawl; then tensed as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she saw the tiny, elegant pistol in Marya's hand.

"Now, tell me who you're working for," Marya went on. "And if I like the answer, maybe I won't have to shoot you."


	3. Chapter 3

Hilda couldn't breathe. Her eyes, dilated with fright, were fixed on the pretty, deadly little plaything in Marya's hand.

"Don't keep me waiting," Marya said, after what felt like hours. "Just because I come from Russia doesn't mean I don't feel the cold." Then, as Hilda still didn't answer her, she went on. "Perhaps I can guess who you're working for. Not Klink, of course. Is it Hochstetter?"

She tilted her head, a slow smile dawning at the involuntary look of disgust on Hilda's face. "No. Not him, either. So that only leaves one possibility. Darling, you're blushing. Now I know I'm right."

Before Hilda could respond, an interruption occurred, in the form of a pretty shoe with a broken heel, which came flying from the end of the alley. It missed Marya by centimetres, and she flinched involuntarily. For once she'd been taken by surprise; among the many dangers she'd faced in her varied career, footwear had never figured before.

It surprised Hilda, too, but her sense of self-preservation kicked in before she had realised it. Without thinking, she gripped her handbag tightly and swung it, hard. It knocked the gun from Marya's hand, towards the end of the lane, where Helga ran forward to snatch it up. She had no idea how it worked, but she clutched it firmly and pointed it more or less in the right direction.

"Don't move," she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "Are you all right, Hilda?"

Marya had already recovered her poise. "I didn't know you were left-handed," she said, with a glance at Hildegard. Then her eyes, half-closed, turned towards Helga. "I have bad news for you. I don't keep it loaded. Someone could get hurt that way."

"I don't believe you."

"Then go ahead and shoot me." A languid, condescending smile accompanied the words. Helga, breathing fast, steadied her aim. Then her chin quivered.

"I can't," she whispered.

"Of course you can't." Marya held out her hand. "Now please, give it back to me. It has sentimental value. My grandmother gave it to me for my eleventh birthday."

Helga surrendered the gun meekly, and Marya slipped it into her purse. "Now that we understand each other..."

"No, we don't," said Hilda.

The Russian sighed. "Oh, well... now that we know we're all on the same side..."

"We don't know that, either."

Marya laughed under her breath. "Maybe you don't," she replied. "But I do." She was still smiling, but her eyes had turned slate-grey in the dim light. "I came here to meet someone, to exchange intelligence. My contact doesn't know it, but the Gestapo are on her trail. I needed to get Hochstetter out of the way, so I gave him some information, genuine but unimportant. He will go straight to Stalag 13 to question the prisoners, Hogan will keep him harmlessly occupied for hours, and by the time he gets back, my contact will be long gone, and everything will be perfect."

"Except for Colonel Hogan," Helga put in, shivering. Her feet, clad only in stockings, were soaking wet, and she was feeling chilled.

"Oh, he can handle Hochstetter. It will be good practice for him." Marya regarded her speculatively. "You know Hogan too? I'd love to know where you met him. He's a prisoner, he isn't supposed to leave Stalag 13. So who are you?"

Helga pressed her lips together, glanced at Hildegard, and didn't say a word. She'd once overheard a comment made by an _Abwehr _officer; possibly he'd been talking to Klink, but she couldn't quite remember the circumstances. But the words had stuck: _Knowledge __is __power_. This irritating Russian woman might be genuine, but for now she wasn't getting any more information than was necessary.

"Who is your contact?" asked Hilda abruptly.

"Nobody you know. But Hogan knows her well. Her code name is Tiger." It meant nothing to Hilda, but the gleam in Marya's eye spoke volumes. Whoever this Tiger was, it seemed Hogan knew her very well indeed.

Marya let the thought hang for a moment before she spoke again. "I think you know as much as is good for you now," she said. "Perhaps in future you will keep out of things that are none of your business." She favoured Hilda with another smile, nodded pleasantly to Helga, and went on her way, as self-possessed as if she were strolling through the park on a Sunday morning.

"Patronising cow!" muttered Helga. Hildegard glanced at her, shocked. But she couldn't find fault with the sentiment. Obviously it hadn't taken long for Helga's opinion of the Russian to come to agreement with her own.

"Well, I suppose she's right," Hilda sighed. "We're out of our depth, Helga. Maybe we should just..."

She trailed off, watching the silver fox coat as it faded into the darkness. Then her eyes met Helga's, and they both spoke together.

"Not likely!"

The laneway opened out at the other end onto Altmarkt, where the pale shimmer of Marya's coat could be seen crossing the busy square.

"She has to be staying at the Grindelwald," observed Hilda. And sure enough, Marya went straight to the massive, ornate front door of the most prestigious hotel in Hammelburg.

"Spying must pay well," said Helga with a giggle, and another shiver. "Do we go straight in?"

Hildegard's eyebrows drew in. "I don't think they'd even let me through the door," she remarked. "And I've got shoes on."

Helga looked down at her own stockinged feet. "That is a problem," she admitted. Then, after a moment of deep thought, she added, "Well, if it's true she has a meeting with this Tiger, she'll have to come out again some time. At least we can find out if she's telling the truth."

"Unless Tiger comes here. And if she did, we wouldn't recognise her." Hildegard bit her lip.

"Oh, yes, we would. Close friend of Colonel Hogan - she'll be a blonde," said Helga, with a touch of malice.

Neither of them could come up with a better plan. A small restaurant, the _Gelbe __Tür_, situated nearby, seemed like a suitable place from which to keep the hotel entrance in sight, and although Hildegard was too tense after her fright to have much appetite, Helga at least was ready for a meal. If the waiter noticed her lack of footwear, he was too polite to say so, and he was quite happy to place them at a table near the window, from which they had a perfect view of the hotel.

The prices in the menu caused Helga to think twice, and she restricted herself with reluctance to soup; no argument she could offer was enough to persuade Hilda to eat anything at all. Hilda's eyes were on the hotel, watching for Marya's departure, or for the approach of any young, attractive female. And when someone did arrive at the broad marble steps, she knew at once who it was. But it wasn't Tiger.

"Helga," she said, in an unsteady voice. "I don't think Hochstetter is as stupid as everyone thinks."

Helga looked up from her soup; her eyes widened at the expression of dismay on Hildegard's face. Then she turned her head to look at the hotel. And she also recognised the stocky man in black, who was standing in front of the building, looking up with grim satisfaction.

"Oh, no," she said softly. "He didn't go to Stalag 13 after all. What do we do now?"


	4. Chapter 4

Helga pushed the soup to one side. "Let's think about this," she said, in a low voice. "Marya said she sent Hochstetter on a wild goose chase to Stalag 13. But instead he turns up here, at her hotel. So either he didn't fall for her story..."

"...or she lied to us," Hilda finished. "She could have arranged for him to meet her here."

"After already talking to her in town? Why would they need to meet again at the hotel?" Helga considered, then shuddered. "No, not that. Even a Russian wouldn't stoop that low."

"It could be a set-up. She told Hochstetter that Tiger is coming here, so that he can arrest her when she arrives." Hilda's cheeks flushed with indignation.

"Maybe. But..." Helga paused, frowning slightly. "On the other hand, Marya could have been telling us the truth. From what she said, she seems to know a lot about Colonel Hogan. She could have informed on him any time she wanted, but she hasn't, yet. Maybe she really did try to trick Hochstetter, and he didn't fall for it."

"I suppose that's possible," admitted Hilda.

They both fell silent, trying to work out what to do.

"I have an idea," said Hilda eventually. "What if I go into the hotel, find out what room she's in and...and I don't know what good that will do," she finished up helplessly. "I can't go and talk to her, in case she really is working with them."

Helga was still gazing at the Gestapo. He had changed into civilian clothes since his meeting with Marya, but if he thought it made him less noticeable he was deluding himself.

"If she was in on it, wouldn't you think they'd wait in her room for Tiger to arrive, instead of lurking outside where they might be seen?" said Helga.

"I guess so," replied Hildegard, biting her lower lip as she considered the problem.

They both watched as Hochstetter and his men took up surveillance positions around the hotel. Hochstetter retreated to one of the benches scattered around the square, and became engrossed in the evening newspaper.

"If she's working for the Gestapo, then I'm already in trouble," murmured Hilda. "Once they know what's going on at Stalag 13..." She trailed off, unwilling to follow the thought to its conclusion. But Helga knew exactly what she meant.

"I guess we're both in trouble," she said. "They'll be looking at everyone who ever worked there. So what do we have to lose? Only perhaps I should be the one to go in there. I'm less likely to meet someone I know."

"With no shoes on?" remarked Hilda. "You won't get past the doorman."

"I'll borrow yours...no, I won't." Helga blushed. Never would she admit out loud how sensitive she was about the size of her feet; but there was no chance at all that Hilda's dainty pumps would fit her.

"They may not even let me in," Hilda went on, glancing down at the hound's-tooth patterned skirt and little black sweater she was wearing; pretty and neat, but hardly swanky enough, and her overcoat was no better. "I should have gone home to change, instead of coming straight from work. I look more like the help than a guest. They're very exclusive at the Grindelwald." She paused, thinking. "Maybe I should go in through the staff entrance."

The idea made sense. Gestapo men would be watching there, too, but Hochstetter, who would recognise Hilda on sight, had taken up his surveillance post within sight of the main entrance. Avoiding his scrutiny, as well as that of the doorman, seemed like a good plan. Helga gave it some thought, and agreed, although reluctantly.

"I'll wait outside," she added. "And if anything goes wrong, I'll find some way to let Colonel Hogan know."

Hildegard smiled tightly. She knew exactly how much chance Helga had of managing that; it didn't make her feel any better. "You should stay in here," she said. "It's too cold to stand in the street with no shoes, and it's getting late."

But Helga wasn't having it. "I'd rather be where I can watch for you," she said, her chin lifting. "I can put my shoes back on. I just can't walk in them."

She was not going to back down; and Hildegard, behind her objection, couldn't help being glad of it. Somehow, against all common sense, she felt safer knowing that Helga had her back.

They left the restaurant, and set off towards the tram stop at the end of the square, trying to look as if they had no interest beyond getting home before the rain set in again; but on reaching the corner, they quickened their steps until they reached the laneway which ran behind the buildings on the square. The staff entrance to the Grindelwald would certainly open onto this alley.

Within sight of the hotel, Helga drew back, taking refuge in the doorway of the neighbouring building, further sheltered by the railing which surrounded the steps leading to the cellar door. "Good luck," she whispered. "And be careful."

Hilda nodded, raised her chin a little, and set off towards the hotel, where two of Hochstetter's men were already on guard.

"_Halt!_" one of them barked. "What is your business here?"

Hilda stopped in her tracks, gazing at him with the wide-eyed panic which inevitably accompanied an encounter with the Gestapo. "I...I work here," she stammered, after a few moments. "In the kitchen. I'm on the night shift."

He peered at her in the yellowish light. "Is it...it is...Hildegard?" Then, as she stared blankly at him, he went red, and gave a little, nervous laugh. "You don't remember me, of course you wouldn't."

He paused, regarding her with wide, hopeful eyes; and a vague memory stirred, of a short, pudgy pre-adolescent with a stutter. "Udo?" she said uncertainly.

A brilliant smile broke over his face. "_Ja_. Udo Schneider." He turned to his companion. "We were at school together. She remembers me." Apparently his crush on her was as strong as ever. "I am in the SS now," he added, proudly, pointing to his insignia. "I am an _Unterscharführer_, see?"

"That's nice, Udo," replied Hilda, trying to look as if she meant it. Poor little Udo, who everyone had picked on, or ignored; of course he'd ended up as one of the bully boys.

Udo beamed again. "You can go in. I will vouch for her, Geisler. We are old friends."

The young private with him seemed uneasy. "We should see her papers, _Herr __Unterscharführer_."

He broke off with a nervous hiccough, as the amiable Udo turned a sudden icy glare on him. "I will vouch for her." Then he stood aside to let Hilda pass.

She paused, on her way in, and put a gentle hand on Udo's arm. "Udo, if you could do something for me. I don't want anyone to know I'm working here. I could lose my day job, if my boss finds out. So please, if you could keep quiet about it...after all, we are old friends, aren't we?"

Udo's chest expanded. "I understand, Hildegard. Not a word, to anyone." He hesitated, then added, with a return of the old familiar stammer, "M-maybe we could catch up some time, over a drink...or a meal..."

"That would be nice," she said hastily. "But I must go now, I'll be late." And she went quickly into the hotel.

Once inside, she stopped to catch her breath, get her bearings, and work out her next move. The entrance had brought her into a corridor, long, high-ceilinged, and dimly lit, though partially illuminated by a bright electric glow from a large doorway on the left. The sound echoing from the room beyond left no doubt; it was the hotel kitchen, and very busy. As she hesitated, a man dressed in chef's whites emerged, wiping his hands on his apron. He stopped in his tracks as soon as his eye fell on Hilda.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"I...I..." Hilda faltered, unable to think of an acceptable response.

The chef grunted. "Let me guess. As usual, Gretchen can't work her shift. What is it this time? Let me guess - is her goldfish sick again? Did she break a finger while she was knitting socks for her brother on the Russian Front? Or has yet another grandmother died?"

"Yes," replied Hilda, desperate to stem the flow.

"Oh, well, at least she remembered to send a replacement," the man sighed. "Pinafores are in the closet, you can leave your purse in there as well. Don't just stand there, girl, the work's piling up."

Under his stern glare, Hilda didn't dare refuse. She opened the closet, pulled out one of the shapeless white pinafores, and quickly enveloped herself in it. _One __size __fits __nobody_, she thought.

The kitchen proved to be a long, narrow chamber. One wall was taken up by a row of massive cooking ranges; facing them, a series of workbenches and a couple of deep, broad sinks. Two assistant cooks were hard at work; they dashed back and forth with scant regard for the elderly woman who hobbled between, pushing a broom from one end of the kitchen to the other, and back again. Copper pans and oversized ladles hung overhead, and the atmosphere was heavy with cooking smells.

"You can start on those," the chef said, gesturing to a stack of dishes. "And be quick. We're understaffed as it is. Just because the dining room is closed, doesn't mean we can relax. We still have room service orders to fill."

There was no help for it. Hilda rolled up her sleeves, and set to work.


	5. Chapter 5

It didn't take long for Hilda to come to the conclusion that, no matter how sophisticated the Russian woman seemed, this kind of work was anything but glamorous.

She washed pots and dishes in sullen silence, while the cooks, working at top speed, prepared every kind of dish imaginable, from _coquilles au vin blanc _to a platter of cheese and onion sandwiches.

"General Burkhalter?" asked the junior chef, on receiving the sandwich order.

His boss nodded. "General Burkhalter." Hilda went pink, and kept her head bent over the sink. If the general should see her at the hotel, she'd really have some explaining to do. She would have to be careful.

At intervals, a harried-looking man in a waiter's outfit would burst into the kitchen, gabble out a fresh order, snatch up whatever was ready to go, and vanish again. There seemed to be two or three of these individuals, but they never stayed long enough for Hilda to work out which was which. The sweeper, meanwhile, seemed oblivious; she shuffled along with her broom as if nobody else was there. The cooks had no choice but to work around her.

Hilda had been at work for something like forty minutes, although it seemed much longer, when an order came which sent a tingle through her nervous system.

"Fresh strawberries, _crème Chantilly_, and a bottle of 1929 Veuve Clicquot at exactly forty-six degrees," the waiter announced. "And someone to take it to her, because I'm not going up there again, and the _sommelier _went home sick as soon as he heard the order."

The chef's two underlings immediately became very busy indeed. He looked from one to the other, then studied the old woman with the broom. Finally, his gaze fell on Hilda, and his eyes brightened.

"You - girl, there - leave those pots to soak, and neaten yourself up. You can take this order up to the Belvedere Suite, as soon as it's ready."

Hilda flushed, unable to believe her luck. Strawberries and cream, not to mention champagne, definitely sounded like Marya's style, and the reluctance of the male staff to go near her seemed like confirmation. She quickly dried her hands, discarded the pinafore and ran to fetch a comb and compact from her purse. It took only a couple of minutes to repair the damage to her appearance wrought by the heat and steam of the kitchen; and by that time the dainty repast was already arranged on a service trolley.

"Fourth floor," said the waiter. "Take the service lift, the suite is at the far end of the passage, on the left."

Her heart beating so hard she could hear it, Hilda took charge of the trolley, and steered it, with only a few wobbles, into the lift.

"Strawberries and cream," she muttered, once she was safely alone. "And champagne." She glared at the bottle in its ice bucket as if she'd like to smash it against the wall. Then she pulled her handbag from where she'd concealed it, tucked into the top of her skirt with her sweater pulled over it. It had been uncomfortable, and made an awkward bulge, but if all went well, she wouldn't be going back to the kitchen, and leaving her identity papers behind was unthinkable.

The service lift was slow, and very noisy, and stopped at the fourth floor with a bump which rattled the silver-covered dishes; and the door stayed closed for just long enough to escalate her nervousness to near panic, before it gave a grinding noise and opened with a series of short jerks. She took a deep breath, gripped the handle of the trolley tightly to stop her fingers from trembling, and pushed it out into the corridor.

It was obvious, now she was here, why the Grindelwald was the most expensive hotel in Hammelburg. The ivory-painted walls, embellished with gilded electric light sconces; the heavy crimson drapes, the dense, soft carpet which absorbed the sound of her footsteps, all spoke of meticulous, unstinting expenditure in pursuit of the highest level of opulence.

She realised she was gradually slowing down, as she approached the door of the Belvedere Suite. "This won't do," she said under her breath, and she completed the last few feet at a rush, and tapped on the door without giving herself time for second thoughts.

There was no sound from inside, and Hilda wondered if the Russian woman was otherwise engaged. She was just tossing up whether to knock again, or retreat, when the door flew open.

"What took you so long...oh, it's you. Again." Marya's greeting switched instantly from sultry to sub-zero, and she stepped back, with a roll of her eyes and a flutter of dark blue silk and ostrich feathers.

_Overdressed, as usual_, thought Hilda. But all she said, in a cool, thin voice, was, "Room service."

Marya stood back to let her past. "Where is your friend?" she asked, as soon as the door was closed.

"Waiting outside the hotel. And if I don't come out, she'll go for help."

Marya looked sideways at her, eyes half-closed. "Oh? And who will she go to? Colonel Hogan?"

"You don't need to know that." In spite of her brave front, Hilda's voice shook.

The Russian continued to watch her for a moment, then smiled with deliberate malice. "Well, you are here now. You might as well have some champagne."

"No, thank you. And maybe you shouldn't either." Hilda bit her lip. "You don't know it, but your plan hasn't worked. Hochstetter knows you're up to something. He's waiting outside the hotel with his men."

For a few seconds, Marya was quite still. "Switch off the lights," she said, and went to the window. Under cover of the darkness, she drew back one of the heavy curtains, and looked out. Her soft-spoken exclamation was in her mother tongue; Hilda didn't understand the words, but the tone was clear enough.

"So, Hochstetter isn't as stupid as he sometimes seems," Marya went on. "Maybe it's only when he's with Hogan...Why did you come to tell me?"

"Because..." Hilda stammered, and her voice trailed off. She couldn't speak of her feelings for Hogan; for all she knew, in spite of the obvious antagonism on his side, he and this woman might at some stage have been lovers. Yet somehow, claiming loyalty towards Germany as an excuse for treason seemed oddly pathetic. She decided to steer a middle course. "I thought you should be warned. Perhaps you could let Tiger know, so she doesn't walk into a trap."

Marya chuckled softly; but the light from the little desk lamp, as she turned it on, revealed how tense she was. "Tiger is already here, in the hotel. I just don't know where. She's meant to contact me."

She picked up the champagne bottle. "If you'd been the waiter," she added, as she started unwrapping the foil and wire, "you would have done this for me."

Once again Hilda had the unreasonable urge to grab the bottle and smash it against something, just to hear it shatter. She didn't say a word, but her silence was sufficient rebuke, and Marya turned reproachful. "Don't look at me like that. It helps me to think."

The first glassful she offered to Hilda, who accepted it without thinking. "So it was a waste of time for me to come," she said, unconsciously despondent.

"Not at all, darling. At least I know he is there. Tiger still has to get out of the hotel, and so do I. And that will not be easy, with Hochstetter in the building." Marya took a strawberry, and reclined on the couch. "He may even come up here," she added, after a moment of thought.

Hilda almost dropped her glass. For a few seconds she almost felt ready to faint. "He can't," she stammered at last. "If he sees me..."

"Of course, he knows you, doesn't he?" Marya considered the implications, then gave a graceful shrug, and an elegant wave of dismissal. "Ah, you'll be gone long before he breaks down the door."

Barely four seconds later, a sharp, no-nonsense rapping had fallen on the door; and this time Hilda's glass did land on the carpet. Marya sat up, staring at the door. Then she sighed, a resigned, fatalistic sigh such as only a Russian could bring forth.

"Or maybe not," she finished up, deadpan.


	6. Chapter 6

Huddled in her doorway, within sight of the hotel, Helga had begun to ask herself whether it might have been smarter, after all, to try to get word to Colonel Hogan. It seemed a very long time since she'd watched Hildegard talk her way past the two SS men; long enough for imagination to sketch out a dozen ways in which this adventure might have come to a sudden and unpleasant end.

Long enough, too, for a fine mist to form in the cold air, settling on Helga's hair and skin, and gradually creeping through every layer of clothing until she felt chilled inside as well as out. She pulled her coat closer around her, and shivered. If she had to stand out here much longer, she'd be wet through, and with the train journey ahead of her...

_The train! _

She had forgotten all about it. A quick look at her watch confirmed what she'd already guessed; unless the train was running late - and they never did, when you wanted them to - she had already missed it, and consequently would also miss her connections at Schweinfurt, Würzburg and Frankfurt am Main.

Well, it couldn't be helped. Even if she'd remembered in time, she wouldn't have been able to do anything about it. Leaving Hilda to cope on her own with Marya, let alone with the Gestapo, was not an option.

Helga's feet were starting to ache. She leaned against the railing which surrounded the cellar stairs, and tried to work out the connections for a later train. At least it distracted her from wondering if Hilda was even now in the hotel manager's office, being interrogated by that mean-looking Gestapo man. Because if anything happened to Hilda...

_Don't start that again_, she told herself fiercely. _Think about the trains._

She had a timetable, somewhere in her purse. With fingers which had started to go numb, she fumbled with the catch, then with an impatient mutter, she rested the bag on the railing, jerked it open and rummaged inside till she found what she was looking for. Then she retreated to the doorway, leafing through the ill-printed booklet, holding it close to her eyes in the dim light. Her purse remained balanced for a few seconds, before it slowly tilted, slid off the rail and fell into the darkness of the cellar stairs, carrying with it her money, her train ticket, and most importantly, her identity card.

Helga just managed to keep herself from giving voice to a squeak of dismay, and shrank back against the door, in case the SS men standing guard a few yards further along had heard the splash as the purse landed in the puddle at the bottom of the stairwell. It seemed impossible that they wouldn't have noticed, but when she risked a quick peek, neither of them had moved.

She moved cautiously towards the railing, and leaned over, but couldn't see anything; so she edged round to the gate at the top of the stairs. It was unsecured, but as she opened it, a harsh metallic screech rose from the hinge. By sheer panic reflex, Helga pulled it shut again.

"_Halt_!"

She spun round, too scared to even cry out; and before she had time to even think of running, the two SS men were on her. One of them seized her by the arm. "You are under arrest," he snapped out.

Helga stared at him, momentarily stunned into complete mental paralysis. She tried to pull away, but the man tightened his hold. "Come quietly, or it will be worse for you," he said.

"But...but I didn't do anything." Helga finally managed to find her voice. "I was just on my way..."

"No talking," he growled. "You will have plenty of time to talk later." He jerked her towards the end of the lane; his colleague closed up on her other side, with his rifle held ready. Helga had no choice but to go along, stumbling on her broken heel.

"C-can I take my shoes off?" she stammered, but they didn't even slow down.

Hochstetter had not moved from his bench, but he raised his head as his men came into sight. Then he folded his newspaper, stood up, and strolled forward to meet them.

"Well, Schneider?" he said. "What have we here?"

"_Bitte, Herr Major_, we caught her coming out of the cellar of one of the buildings near the hotel." Schneider's voice rang with oddly schoolboyish pride.

"I wasn't coming out," Helga protested. "I was..." She broke off abruptly; it was never a good idea to admit anything to the Gestapo.

"Coming out, going in, it doesn't matter." Hochstetter smiled slightly, studying her face as if trying to see inside. "What matters is that we have you now. The rest we can find out, in due course." He turned to Schneider. "Put her in the car, and take her back to headquarters. And make sure she is comfortable, until I get there."

"You are not coming, _Herr Major_?"

"Not yet." Hochstetter looked up at the hotel. "I have another matter to deal with first."

* * *

><p>Neither Hilda nor Marya moved, until the knock at the door was repeated. Then Marya stood up. "Stay out of sight," she murmured, as she went to the door. Hilda, standing well back, couldn't seen who was on the other side, but she could see Marya's reaction. The Russian's shoulders dropped, her eyes rolled, and she stepped back, with an elaborately dramatic wave of the arm. "Of course, why not?"<p>

She turned away, and threw herself on the couch again. Hilda held her breath, as the visitor came into sight, then her eyes widened. She recognised the woman at once; but she couldn't understand why the woman who had spent the last hour sweeping the kitchen floor should be paying a call on Marya.

The newcomer was equally startled. She regarded Hilda narrowly for a moment, then turned a look of enquiry on Marya, who smiled. "She is safe," she said, in English.

"You're sure?" The woman took another look at Hilda. "_Alors..._" She put a hand up to her hair. No, not her own; the untidy grey wig came away, and she threw it down on the nearest chair.

Helga had guessed right. Tiger was a blonde.

"You have the information for me?" she asked, in a businesslike tone, as she started unbuttoning her faded pinafore.

"Of course." Marya made a dismissive gesture. "Have some champagne."

Tiger's eyebrows drew in, and she pursed up her lips. "It would be better not," she replied. "I must leave as soon as we have made the exchange."

"If you can get past Hochstetter." Marya nodded towards the window, and after a few moments Tiger went to look, barely moving the curtain. Her self-possession was not quite so unshakeable as the Russian's; she caught her breath, and one hand fluttered over her throat.

"But why is he here?" she broke out.

"He's waiting for you," said Marya. "A nice little Gestapo man I know sent me a message this morning, saying Hochstetter was on your track. I tried to put him off. I failed." She shrugged, apparently philosophical about the matter.

"How did he know?" Tiger's eyes, aglow with suspicion, moved from Marya to Hilda, who blushed, but held her ground.

Marya chuckled softly. "Don't glare like that, darling. She is perfectly harmless. She's a friend of Hogan."

"Oh." The fire in those golden-brown eyes intensified.

"Oh." Marya threw the monosyllable back, her voice rich with mockery. "Be nice, Tiger, she came to warn us, even though she's absolutely convinced I'm a Gestapo informant."

Tiger continued to glower for a few seconds, then turned away. The pinafore was thrown aside, revealing a very chic olive green skirt and sweater, which she quickly adjusted with a few deft tweaks; then she produced a tiny jar of cold cream from her pocket, and began to remove her make-up. Underneath, she was much younger, and considerably more beautiful, than she had appeared. Hilda's lips tightened. This woman was just too perfect.

"In that case, there must be a traitor in among our people," Tiger murmured. "I will take care of it, when I return home."

"Which brings us back to where we started," said Marya. "How are you going to get past Hochstetter? He will have men guarding every exit."

Tiger brushed away the question with a graceful gesture. "It is still possible. There was a much larger hotel here, years ago. The original cellars still run under all the buildings on this row, one can easily move from one to the next. But the risk will be higher, with SS on guard outside." She brought out a little compact from the same pocket, examined her face in the mirror, and began to apply powder, as if she needed it. "Perhaps it would be a good idea for you to leave the same way."

"And have Hochstetter know he was right not to trust me? Never!" protested Marya.

"But if he searches your room, and finds anything..."

"He won't find anything. He won't even look." Marya smiled, with catlike assurance. "Don't worry, Tiger darling. I can handle Hochstetter."

At that, Hilda suddenly found her voice. "The same way you handled him earlier?"

Tiger's lips quivered into a fleeting smile. Not so much as a flicker passed across Marya's face, but her eyes turned as cold and grey as the North Sea in winter. "When you leave, Tiger, take her with you."

She took a sip of champagne, then rose and went to the window and drew back one corner of the curtain slightly. "But she's right. I was not so clever. Hochstetter is not like other men, he sees treason everywhere. Of course he would not trust me. He trusts no one. The best way to put him off the track would have been to tell him the truth."

Tiger closed her compact with a snap, and held it up. "The microfilm is inside this," she said. "But I cannot leave it with you, unless I am sure it will be safe. You must leave with us."

For several seconds, Marya gazed out at the square below. Slowly, her fingers tightened on the heavy velvet fabric of the curtain. "You may be right," she murmured. "But not for the reasons you think." Her eyes darted involuntarily towards Hilda.

"What do you mean?" Tiger joined her at the window, peering over her shoulder. "_Mais cette femme_...who is she? And why have they arrested her?"

Hilda uttered an involuntary, half-choked cry. She already knew the answer, before Marya spoke.

"She is another of Hogan's friends. But I doubt whether Hochstetter knows that."

"Then why?" demanded Tiger again.

Marya sighed softly. "Perhaps because they think they've found who they are looking for. Young, attractive, blonde, and loitering around the hotel entrance. That's probably the only description he gave his men, probably all he knows himself. They've arrested her because they think she is you. And that means he no longer has to wait. Any minute now he'll be up here to take me as well."


	7. Chapter 7

"How much time do we have?" asked Tiger.

Marya was already heading for the bedroom, the silken négligée swirling around her ankles. "That will depend on how long it takes Hochstetter to get past the doorman," she called back. "He doesn't meet the dress standard."

"I do not think they apply the normal rules of admittance to the Gestapo," Tiger pointed out, in a slightly acid tone, picking up a detached strand of ostrich feather from the back of the ottoman, and regarding it with distaste. "Besides, how strict can they be? They let you in."

"Don't be so superior, Tiger, darling. You had to sneak in through the kitchens."

"Which would not have been necessary, if you did not insist on making yourself the centre of attention wherever you go."

Hilda scarcely heard a word. She had crept to the window, just in time to see the Gestapo staff car speed off into the night. They had taken Helga away. Nothing else mattered.

A soft touch on her shoulder recalled her attention, and she turned. It was Tiger. "We have to go," she said.

Hilda tried to speak, but her voice caught on a rising sob, and all she could do was shake her head. Tiger's eyebrows drew in a little. "You cannot stay here. It's bad enough that the Gestapo have taken your friend. If they find us here, it will make things worse."

"Much worse. Hochstetter knows this one," added Marya as she reappeared, having dressed at express speed. Then, as she caught the look of exasperation on Tiger's face, she glanced down at her deep turquoise satin dress, with its high Oriental collar and intricate embroidery in gold thread, she raised her eyebrows. "What's wrong with it?" she asked.

"Nothing, if you're attending a cocktail party at the _hôtel de ville_," replied Tiger, cool and critical. "For escaping from the Gestapo, it is not appropriate. Have you nothing more suitable?"

"Why should I need clothes for escaping? Never before have I run away from anything. You expect me to dress like Klink's secretary?" She glanced at Hilda, who was still staring out at the square below; then, aware of Tiger's bewilderment, she added under her breath: "She works in the office at Stalag 13."

"_Ah, je comprends_," murmured Tiger. "And the other one?"

Marya shrugged her shoulders; and it was Hilda who replied, very unsteadily. "She used to work there, before she moved away." A tear had worked its way out of her eye; she scrubbed her cheek with the back of her hand. "Is there nothing we can do?"

Tiger sighed softly. "If we could get word to Colonel Hogan, perhaps he might be able to think of something...You are not going to wear that?" Her attention was instantly diverted, as her eyes turned to Marya again. "But this is madness. Everyone in Hammelburg must know that coat by now."

"Of course they do, darling," agreed Marya, as she pulled the silver fox over her shoulders. "Don't worry, it's part of the plan. Forget about Hogan, by the time we contact him and he manages to get out of Stalag 13, our friend will be halfway to Berlin. We have to act now, while she is still within reach."

"_C'est impossible_. We cannot do it. By now she is already in Gestapo headquarters." Tiger looked out of the window again.

Marya gave a low-pitched chuckle. "It would be no fun if it was easy. I have a plan - well, the start of a plan, at least. I'm sure the rest will come to me, in time." She ran one finger along the edge of the service trolley, then without warning tipped it over. The half-melted contents of the ice bucket immediately started to soak into the Oriental rug, _crème Chantilly _splattered across the furniture, and strawberries bounced and rolled into every corner of the room.

"_Mais qu'est-ce que tu fais?_" gasped Tiger, while Hilda gave voice to a startled squeal, and backed away.

"I didn't do it," replied Marya, the picture of injured innocence. "It happened during the struggle, while I was being kidnapped by members of the Underground."

"Ah." The faintest hint of a smile quivered at the corner of Tiger's lips. "I begin to see what you have in mind. But we must move quickly." She paused, then went on with reluctance. "It will not be possible to retrieve my coat, or hers. Would it be possible...?"

Marya smirked, and nodded towards the bedroom. "In there."

She laughed softly at Tiger's startled exclamation. "_Mon Dieu,_ how many clothes does one woman need? You cannot possible carry them all yourself."

"I don't," replied Marya coolly.

Tiger returned, and thrust a long, dark purple overcoat into Hilda's arms. "Here, put this on, quickly." The faint, exotic scent clinging to the soft woollen fabric made Hilda feel slightly ill, but she suppressed it; although she couldn't help noticing that Tiger had chosen something rather more tasteful in black for herself.

"Wh-where are we going?" she asked.

"Gestapo headquarters, darling. Where else would we go?" replied Marya, as if there was no question about it. "But first, we have to get out of here, without Hochstetter seeing us. Tiger, how are we to get to the cellars?"

Tiger considered. "The Gestapo will have the stairs covered. We must take the service lift to the kitchen passage, and reach the cellar from there."

She opened the door, and peeped out. "All clear," she whispered, slipping out into the corridor. "_Allons - _no, wait." With a quick tug, she pulled the door almost closed, and stood with her back to it. "_Guten Abend_."

The reply sent a shiver down Hilda's spine, and she drew back, instinctively hiding behind Marya. She knew General Burkhalter's voice all too well. "Good evening, madame. Is everything in order? I have the room opposite, and I thought I heard someone cry out."

"It was nothing, _monsieur_," said Tiger. "I thought I saw a mouse, that is all."

"A mouse? At the Grindelwald?" Burkhalter's tone sharpened into disapproval. "I never heard of such a thing."

"Oh, it can happen at the best hotels," Tiger replied lightly. "They even found one once at the Savoy in London, so I am told. But of course, it was a mouse from a very good family."

There was a moment's silence, then a harsh, wheezing laugh from the general. "Very good, madame. A mouse from a good family, indeed!" He continued to chortle for a few moments. "Might I perhaps be of assistance? I could send for my guards, they are on duty downstairs."

"Oh, please don't go to any trouble. I will have housekeeping send someone," said Tiger. "It is only one mouse, I think they will be able to deal with it."

Burkhalter might have pressed his offer, had he not been interrupted by a sweet, languid voice from his own suite: "Klopsie, darling, what are you doing? Please, come back inside. The champagne is getting warm."

"Ah...yes, coming, my dear," he called back. Then he cleared his throat. "My sister," he explained. "Please excuse me, madame."

"But of course," murmured Tiger. "_Auf Wiedersehen_."

She waited for a few seconds after he had gone back to his own suite, before she tapped softly on the door behind her. "Come, quickly," she whispered; and led the way to the service lift at the end of the passage.

"That wasn't his sister," muttered Hilda, as soon as they were safely in the lift.

Marya laughed softly. "Details. She is probably someone's sister. You know him?"

"He is General Burkhalter," said Hilda, after a moment of astonished silence. How could she not know...?

The thought broke off, and was lost, as the lift dropped a couple of feet. Hilda gasped; Tiger put a hand on the wall to steady herself; and Marya, briefly shaken out of her self-possession, mumbled something in her own tongue. Whatever it was, it didn't sound nice. However, the rest of the descent went smoothly, although Hilda didn't breathe easily until a bump and rattle brought the car to a stop. As the door slid open, the clatter and bustle of the kitchen could be heard, and the irritated voice of the head chef.

"They will be wondering what is taking you so long," observed Tiger, with a glance at Hildegard. "The cellar stairs are over there. Marya..."

The pale shimmer of Marya's coat slipped past, and vanished into the stairwell. Tiger put her hand on Hilda's shoulder and gently propelled her in the same direction, bringing up the rear herself.

"Be careful," she murmured. "The steps are very old. Let me go first." She produced a tiny flashlight, which hardly seemed to make any difference, and set off with cautious steps. Hilda followed, shivering at the chill emanating from the ancient stone walls.

Tiger had obviously done her homework. She led the way through the labyrinth of shelves and wine racks without the slightest hesitation, finally reaching a door of heavy timber, dark with age. "We are under one of the other buildings now," she whispered. "But we are still close to the hotel. If Hochstetter still has men guarding the rear entrance, then we must go further. I will check."

She handed the flashlight to Marya, and eased the door open, allowing a faint yellow light to dispel the gloom. Keeping close to the jamb, she slid out into a damp and dirty stairwell, then flattened herself against the wall, the dark olive colour of her clothing almost invisible. For a few seconds she stayed still, looking upwards; then as the sound of men's voices drifted down from the laneway above, she retreated.

"We must go further," she whispered. "Hochstetter's men are on patrol." She started to close the door, but stopped, then silently slipped out again, snatched up something from the damp stone paving, and darted back again.

"What have you found?" asked Marya tersely, raising the flashlight to inspect the item in Tiger's hands.

"It's Helga's." Hildegard's voice shook, as she recognised the brown suede handbag. "She must have dropped it when..." She stammered into silence, unable to finish.

For several seconds nobody spoke; then Tiger gently laid the bag in Hilda's hands. "Take care of it," she said. "When she is safe, you can give it back to her."

She spoke quietly, without emphasis, but so calm and matter-of-fact was her tone, and so confident was Marya's responsive smile, that Hilda felt comforted at once. A tiny spark of hope sprang up in her heart, more fragile than the beam of the little flashlight in the heavy darkness. It was not much, but she held on to it. For Helga's sake, she had to hold on.


	8. Chapter 8

At least it was warm in the Gestapo major's office. In fact, it was too warm for comfort; or perhaps what made Helga perspire was the presence of the two SS men, the same men who had subjected her to a search of her clothing which had made her bristle with feminine outrage. Now they stood like statues on either side of the chair on which she had been placed, close enough to induce a sense of claustrophobia.

She wasn't sure how long she had been here, as they had taken away her wristwatch. There was a clock mounted on the wall, a particularly handsome timepiece in a finely carved dark wooden case; but the gleaming brass pendulum was still, and since she'd been brought in, the hands had not moved from four minutes past twelve. Neither of the guards spoke, no sound penetrated from outside. There was nothing by which to measure the passing of time.

Helga almost began to wish they'd just get on with it, until Major Hochstetter finally arrived.

He walked across to his desk, with a confident, self-satisfied swagger. Helga kept her head lowered, but peeped up at him as he went past. Then, as he leaned against the desk and fixed a cold, searching gaze on her, she looked away.

"Well, here we are, _Fräulein_," he said at last. "Or should I say, _mademoiselle_? "

Receiving no reply, he glanced at one of his men. "You searched her, of course?"

The man jumped to attention. "_Jawohl, Herr Major_. She had only what is on your desk."

"Ah." Hochstetter turned to examine the sad little heap on the desk; her watch, a few coins she'd had in her pocket, a handkerchief, and her shoes, one with a broken heel. "No documentation?"

"Nothing, _Herr Major_."

"I see. Not that it matters, it would have been forged, anyway. Am I not right, _mademoiselle_? Anyone who has survived in the Resistance for so long would not be foolish enough to carry an identity card with her real name."

She couldn't understand what he was talking about at first. "What do you mean?" she faltered.

He laughed. "Oh, come now, I'm sure you can do better than that."

"But...I'm not...you've made a mistake..."

"Did you hear that, Schneider?" said Hochstetter, with a smile. "We have made a mistake."

"Well, perhaps we were a little hasty,_ Herr Major_," Schneider replied tentatively. "After all..."

"Thank you, Schneider." Hochstetter's voice grated unpleasantly, and Schneider dropped off into silence. "Please, go on, _mademoiselle_. Tell us how this mistake could possibly have occurred. What were you doing at the Hotel Grindelwald?"

Helga took a deep breath, and tried to ignore the icy shell which seemed to have formed around her heart. She had to keep her head, whatever happened; and she had to come up with some kind of explanation. "I was on my way to the railway station, and I wanted to take a short cut. But when I saw these men in the alley, I thought I should keep away. I had just started to go back when they grabbed me."

"I see," said Hochstetter. "You weren't actually going to meet someone at the hotel."

There seemed no harm in answering that. "No, I didn't go there to meet anyone."

"Of course not. So you were acting alone."

"Yes. I mean, no. I mean..." She broke off, flustered. "I was alone, but I wasn't doing anything."

"So you are simply an innocent citizen, going about her business." His eyes narrrowed slightly. "And you have no identity card because...?"

"I...I lost my purse," Helga faltered. Well, it was true, anyway.

"How unfortunate," remarked the Gestapo. "Did you report the loss? Oh, we can't have that, can we?" He went to sit behind the desk. "I'll just make out a report now for you. Your name?"

He had discarded his menacing tone, adopting instead a polite, officially helpful manner which fitted him like someone else's cast-off overcoat. It didn't carry any reassurance for Helga; some deep instinct warned her against giving him any details. Once they knew who she was, and discovered her link to Stalag 13, the game would be up for Hogan and his men; and it wouldn't stop there. The next step would be to start rounding up her other connections: family, friends, work colleagues.

It wouldn't even do any good. The Gestapo never made mistakes; or if they did, they buried them. The best Helga could hope for was that she might be able to stall for time, and give Hilda a chance to get word to Stalag 13. At least others might be saved.

She straightened up in her seat, looked the Gestapo straight in the eye, and lied. "Gretchen Müller."

"Gretchen Müller." He wrote it down. "And your address?"

"Königstraße 31, Dortmund." She had no idea if there was any such street in Dortmund, but it would take them a while to find out.

Hochstetter laughed softly. "You are a long way from home, _mademoiselle_. Tell me, how do you come to be in Hammelburg?"

"I..." Her voice shook, and she had to stop for a moment to steady herself. "I got on the wrong train by mistake. I was supposed to be going to Hamburg, but I was running late, and I didn't read the sign properly. And once I got here, there was no train back for a few hours, so I thought I'd have a look around."

"Perfectly understandable. And how do you like our little town? By the way, allow me to compliment you. You speak German like a native."

"Why wouldn't I?" The question came out perfectly naturally; she had no idea what he was getting at.

He rose, and came around the desk to stand in front of her. "Because, my dear young woman, you are not Gretchen Müller, of Königstraße 31, Dortmund. Your name is Marie-Louise Monet. You were born in Sélestat, in northern France, and your code name in the Underground is Tiger."

"No," said Helga, after a few moments of stunned silence. "No, you've got it wrong. I'm..." She broke off abruptly.

"By the way, your Russian friend had already left the hotel by the time we got to her room," he went on, as if she hadn't spoken. "Apparently she has decided to save herself, and abandoned you to your fate. It was to be expected, of course. But it leaves you in a very unpleasant situation, doesn't it?"

Helga shivered, and kept her eyes turned away. "You've made a mistake," she whispered again. "I am German, not French. My name is..."

"Gretchen Müller. Have it your way, then," said Hochstetter. "A special team of interrogators is waiting for you in Berlin, and I must warn you, they are not nearly so friendly as we are here in Hammelburg." He regarded her in silence for a few moments. "Do you not understand I am trying to help you? A little co-operation now will save you a great deal of unpleasantness later. Do you remember your last experience of Gestapo hospitality, in Paris?"

She didn't, of course; and her imagination could only go so far towards filling in the details. But as far as she got, it was enough. A wave of dread swept through her, leaving her trembling.

"I can put in a good word for you, if you are willing to give me something to make it worth my while," Hochstetter went on. "Your Underground contacts here in Hammelburg - their names and addresses. I am particularly interested in the man known as Papa Bear."

"I don't know any such person." Helga's voice shook. "Please, I have nothing to do with any Underground." She steeled herself to meet his eyes, her own wide with innocent distress. "I'm a loyal German, I love my country. Why won't you believe me?"

He didn't answer her at first. Finally he sighed. "Very well. You will have a few hours to think about your situation, before you are transferred to Berlin. Take her to the cells." He returned to his chair, and began to read one of the files awaiting his attention, as if dismissing an annoying piece of business which was no longer any concern of his.

"If you please, _Fräulein_," said Schneider.

Helga was still staring at the impassive Hochstetter, but he appeared to have lost all interest in her.

"Forgive me, _Fräulein_, but you must come with us." Schneider's voice dropped into an apologetic murmur. Then as she still didn't move, he held out his hand. She looked up at him, then stood, ignoring the offer of help. Once again the two guards closed up on either side as they left the office.

The holding cells, far below, were not nearly as cosy as Hochstetter's office; the one Helga was brought to was dark and grimy, with an unpleasant but pervasive odour. The walls glistened with condensation, drawn from the cold atmosphere by the colder stone. A narrow cot, with a thin mattress and coarse dark blanket, stood against one wall; otherwise the cell was unfurnished. Somehow, this seemed to be just the Gestapo touch, to provide a bed. Nobody would be likely to sleep, once they were locked in here.

"Geisler, wait outside," said Schneider curtly.

"But, _Herr Unterscharführer_..."

"I said, wait." The glare which came with this was sufficient to melt all resistance, and Geisler retreated hurriedly. Helga shrank back, her breath catching in the chilly air. What was going to happen now?

As soon as the door was closed, Schneider's manner changed. He looked away, and shuffled his feet like a nervous adolescent. "You should tell the major what he wants to know," he mumbled at last.

"I can't," Helga replied tightly. "It's just as I said. Whoever this Tiger is you're looking for, you've got the wrong person."

He seemed uncertain; a pucker had developed between his eyebrows as he studied her. "You don't look French," he said, in an undertone. "And you don't sound - but of course, an Underground agent would need to speak perfect German. So that means nothing. Still..."

He crossed his arms across his chest, and looked at the floor. "Even if you are not the Frenchwoman, there must be something, some information - maybe something you saw, or someone you spoke to. Everyone knows something. That's what Major Hochstetter says. So tell him what you know, and maybe it won't be so bad." Then as she just stared at him without speaking, he added quickly, "I don't want to see you get hurt, that's all."

"Then why did you arrest me?" she asked, torn between distrust and sheer bewilderment.

He gave a nervous, unhappy laugh. "It's my job."

It was a trick. It had to be. But if it wasn't, maybe there was a chance. Helga clasped her hands together, and took a tiny step closer. "You have to believe me, I am not Tiger, I don't know her, and there's nothing I can tell you about her or anyone else." She hesitated, then went on, very softly. "You talk as though you want to help me. Can't you just find a way to let me out of here?"

His eyes widened, and he backed away till he was right against the door. "It would be worth my life to even try. Don't you know, every Gestapo man in Germany has been searching for Tiger? Himmler has taken a personal interest in the case. If I helped you escape, it would mean a firing squad. I wouldn't get a trial. I wouldn't even get a blindfold."

"But..."

"No. I can't help you." He took cover in a return to brusqueness. "If you won't help yourself, then it's your own fault."

Before Helga could utter another word, he pounded his fist against the door. "Let me out, Geisler," he called.

The door opened, and with the air of a man escaping from the tiger enclosure at the Hammelburg Zoo, Schneider vanished. Helga's shoulders slumped, and she tottered to the bed, and dropped. For a few minutes she stared blankly at the door. Gradually, she inched herself along until her back was against the wall; she drew up her knees, and wrapped her arms around them, making herself as small as she could.

_I won't be able to hold out for long, I know I won't_, she thought. _But I'll try. Oh, Hilda, I'll try as hard as I can._

It seemed to Geisler, as he followed his superior up the stairs from the lower levels, that the _Unterscharführer _seemed a little preoccupied. He didn't like to say anything; ever since Udo had been promoted, it didn't pay to get too familiar with him. But he certainly had something on his mind. As they reached the ground floor, he stopped in his tracks.

"Geisler, I have something I need to attend to," he said brusquely. "If Major Hochstetter asks, tell him I went back to the Grindelwald to make further enquiries."

"Would you like me to come with you?" asked Geisler timidly.

The cold, blank look he received in reply made him wish he'd kept quiet; and Schneider's voice was just as cold, when he spoke. "No, It's better if I go alone. It won't take long." Forestalling any further argument, he turned on his heel and strode away towards the main entrance.

He paused on the steps outside. Not even the faintest shadow of his thoughts found expression in his eyes, Finally he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and set off at a rapid pace towards the Hotel Grindelwald. He knew what he had to do.


	9. Chapter 9

"And that is your idea of a plan? _C'est de la folie, on va être sûrement découvert. Oh, mais que vous êtes folle, vous avez perdu la raison, vous êtes..._"

Marya cut into a diatribe which appeared to be developing along thesaurus lines. "Please, Tiger, if you are going to insult me, don't be so formal about it. I thought we were friends."

There was no friendship in Tiger's eyes. "It will never work," she said. "We will not even make it into the building before we are discovered."

"Why not? Surely this is not the first time you have had to play a part."

There was just enough light in this narrow alleyway to see the colour which stained the ivory perfection of Tiger's cheek. "I do not play men convincingly."

"Have you ever been caught out?"

"Only once," replied Tiger.

"You see?"

"At Stalag 13, by Schultz."

"Ah." Marya paused, thinking; then she brushed the thought aside with an airy, unconcerned gesture. "You worry too much. Schultz won't be there. Besides," she added, her voice dropping to a soft purr, "nobody will be looking at you."

From the tightening of Tiger's lips, it seemed she was prepared to take umbrage. But after a brief struggle with herself, she let it go, and changed tack. "Do you not think it would be better to ask some of the Hammelburg Underground to help us?"

"That sounds like a good idea," Hilda put in. She had kept quiet up till now; she had an awful feeling that if she started talking, she would go into hysterics, and that wouldn't help the situation. But the plan of attack Marya had come up with, and sketched out for her companions, sounded not merely risky, but completely insane.

"You want to bring them into this?" Marya sighed, and shook her head. "You're not thinking, Tiger. Tell me, who knew you were to meet me tonight?"

"My own people in Strasbourg and Metz," replied Tiger slowly, after a long pause, "and a few people here. I needed their help to get access to the hotel."

"And who do you suppose would have found it easiest to let Hochstetter know?" asked Marya. "It's simple, darling. The traitor is someone here, in Hammelburg. We don't know who, so we can't trust any of them. If this is to be done, we have to do it ourselves."

"But it is impossible, it cannot possibly work."

Marya tilted her head to the side, and the intonation of her voice shifted a little further east. "Tiger, do you remember how Hogan and I rescued you from the Gestapo in Paris?"

"Of course I remember," Tiger snapped back. Then, as Marya seemed to be waiting for more, she went on, "You sent in a six-foot tall Russian doorman, disguised as Himmler. He gave himself a concussion, and his false moustache fell off."

"And the Gestapo still released you to him."

"It was a good thing for me that Colonel Hogan was there to make sure of it." But Tiger, with a final roll of her eyes, ceased her protests. "How do we proceed?"

Marya nodded towards the tavern across the street. "That's where all of Hochstetter's men drink when they are off duty. They are not supposed to go in uniform, but they do. We choose our target, our little friend here goes in and..."

"I don't like it," said Hilda suddenly. "I don't think...I mean, I've never done anything like this, I don't know if I can. What if there's someone in there who knows me?"

"It is unlikely," replied Marya. "Hochstetter prefers to bring in his men from elsewhere, so they are not too friendly with the locals. I doubt he has more than two or three men who are from this part of Germany."

"Perhaps it would be safer for me to do this instead," suggested Tiger

"Impossible. Your accent would give you away."

Once again, Tiger showed signs of affront. "_Eigentlich __kann ich sehr gut deutsch_," she said. "At least let me go with her. It will be easier for two than for one."

Marya frowned slightly, as she observed Hilda's rapid breathing, and the nervous twisting of her fingers. "That's true. Very well, Tiger. Take this." She held out a small glass vial. "When you have found someone suitable, put a few drops in his drink while he is talking to Hilda. Then as soon as he starts getting drowsy, bring him here."

"It won't hurt him, will it?" Hilda faltered.

"No, of course not," said Marya. "He'll have a little nap in a doorway for a couple of hours, he'll wake up with a headache, and he will be too embarrassed to admit that he got his uniform stolen. And even if he does report it, we'll be long gone by then."

"Does nothing ever worry you?" asked Tiger, regarding her curiously.

For several seconds, Marya was silent. "You should go," she said at last. "The rain is getting heavier, it will give you an excuse to go inside. I will wait here."

She drew back into the darkness. Tiger gazed after her, then turned to Hilda. "Are you ready? Come, then." She linked her arm through Hilda's, and drew her quickly across the street through the increasing downpour, and into the warmth of the _Bierkeller_.

Inside it was suprisingly pleasant; an old-fashioned establishment in the traditional Bavarian style. It was not as crowded as Hilda had expected, and only a few patrons sported SS uniforms. Three men were at a table in one corner; from the sound of things, they were making a night of it. A fourth sat alone at a table in the corner, reading a newspaper.

There was nobody Hilda knew, and she started breathing again.

"_Guten Abend, gnädige Damen_." The waiter came bustling to greet them. "Allow me to take your coats. A table? This way, please." He ushered them to the table next to the man with the newspaper. "May I take your order?"

"A small cognac, _bitte_," murmured Hilda. She didn't normally like spirits, but she felt a chill inside which had nothing to do with the weather, and she needed something to drive it away if she was going to do this. A smile from Tiger duplicated the order, and the waiter bowed and hastened away.

Tiger was studying the man at the next table. She glanced at Hildegard, and nodded slightly. Hilda felt herself blushing. She wasn't used to making the first move, and had no very clear idea how to start; she tried to catch his eye, but he was deeply immersed in what appeared to be a story about animal husbandry. After a few moments, she cleared her throat.

"_Guten Abend_," she murmured, as he looked up.

"_Abend_." With no more than that, he returned to his paper.

Hilda's eyebrows went up. She sent a startled, enquiring look at Tiger, then tried again. "Excuse me, but..." Her voice faltered slightly as he raised his head again. Then, with a sense of now or never, she went on. "I know I shouldn't ask, but...but is there any news in there about Sicily?"

"It says our glorious armies are victorious on all fronts and have completed a successful tactical withdrawal to the mainland," he replied.

"A retreat?"

He gave her a thin-lipped smirk. He was an unprepossessing creature, all ears and Adam's apple. "It might seem so, to those uneducated in the finer points of military strategy. But the Führer himself approved the withdrawal, so you can rest assured it is all part of his plan for ultimate victory."

"I suppose it's one of those things women can't be expected to understand," Hilda remarked, glancing towards her companion

Just as she had claimed, Tiger's German was excellent. "Perhaps. But I'd love to have it explained to me, some time, by a man who understands such things." The smile with which she finished was mesmerising, and Hilda silently added another bad mark to the tally she was keeping in her head. So far Marya was in the lead, but it was close.

The man was apparently immune. "It's probably too complicated for the female mind to grasp," he replied. "You should not trouble yourself with such things. War is no business for women." He returned to his paper with an air of finality.

Tiger's eyes narrowed. She was no more accustomed to being brushed off than Hildegard was, and she clearly didn't care for it.

"Should we try one of those three over there?" whispered Hilda. She didn't like the idea; the party seemed to be getting rowdier every minute.

Tiger didn't answer at once, as the waiter returned with their order. But she glanced towards the door, which had just opened to admit another man in SS uniform. "The new arrival might be better," she murmured, once the waiter was gone. "He doesn't look very clever. No, don't turn around."

With an effort, Hilda kept still, lacing her fingers together. Out of the corner of her eye she could just make out the form of the newcomer, who had gone straight to the bar. A sense of foreboding took possession of her, however, as she realised how familiar he seemed.

"Tiger," she said under her breath, "I think...I'm almost certain..." She stammered off into silence, as the man turned away from the bar. His gaze fell on the two women, and he froze, staring; then he came slowly towards their table, and without a word sat down, his eyes fixed on Hilda, who didn't dare look at him. Tiger, with no outward sign of agitation, was fully alert to the situation. But it was Udo who finally broke the silence.

"Oh, Hildegard," he said, very softly, "what have you gotten yourself into?"

* * *

><p>Episode references: <em>Hold That Tiger<em> (Season 1); _A Tiger Hunt In Paris_ (Season 2)


	10. Chapter 10

"I asked them about you at the hotel. They said they'd never seen you before, you just turned up tonight saying you were covering for one of the staff. So you lied to them, as well as to me."

Udo spoke softly, too softly to be overheard against the combined noise of the party in the corner and the music from the radio behind the bar. But there was no mistaking the deep, angry resentment in his voice. Hilda flushed, and bit her lower lip to stop it from trembling. In his SS uniform, he looked so different to the pudgy schoolboy of her recollection; but the hurt look in his eyes was all too familiar.

"What were you doing there?" he went on. "Why did you go to so much trouble to get into the Grindelwald, when you knew the Gestapo were watching the place?"

"I don't know what you want me to tell you," replied Hilda in a shaky voice. "I was working there. If you spoke to the chef, he would have told you..."

Udo interrupted, finishing the sentence for her. "You washed dishes, for less than an hour. Then you went to deliver a room service order, and you never came back. That order was placed by a Russian woman, who has been under observation since she arrived in Hammelburg, but now she is nowhere to be found. It's obvious, you went there to meet her." He turned, as a movement from Tiger caught his eye. "Keep still. And put your hands on the table, where I can see them. Any trouble, and I'll take you both in for questioning, right now. There are plenty of officers here to help."

He was right; the man at the next table had finished his beer, folded his newspaper and left, but the three revellers in the corner remained, and another two who had come in since Udo's arrival stood chatting at the bar. If Udo decided to take the women into custody, he would have no difficulty. Tiger, with deliberate scorn, placed both hands flat on the tablecloth, silently challenging him to follow through on his threat. But he turned back towards Hilda. "Who is your friend, Hildegard?"

"She...she is..." Hilda stammered, unable to think of a reply.

"My name is Helga." Tiger answered for her. "Hilda and I used to work together."

"Is that so?" Udo looked from one girl to the other. "And who is the woman we arrested tonight, outside the hotel?" He paused, waiting for a reply, but as neither of them spoke, he went on. "Major Hochstetter believes she is an Underground operative, a Frenchwoman known as Tiger. She denied it, of course; claimed to be a Fräulein Müller, from Dortmund. He's been trying to get hold of her dossier, but the chief of the Paris bureau doesn't want to release it. So if Hochstetter has made a mistake, by the time he finds out it will be too late. They're taking her to Berlin tonight, by train. Major Hochstetter plans to see her to the station himself, and send two of his most trusted men to Berlin with her. If she is innocent, as she claims, too bad for her."

A tiny, half-choked sob escaped from Hilda, and he rounded on her at once. "Don't. Just don't. You took advantage of me to get into the Grindelwald, and you're prepared to let this Fräulein Müller suffer the consequences of whatever you were doing there. You know what? I never really thought you were the kind of person who...well, I was wrong. Why shouldn't I just arrest you now, and be done with it?"

"Why don't you?" asked Tiger.

"Because..." Udo broke off, breathing deeply. After a few moments, he went on, addressing Hilda and ignoring her companion. "Because I don't want you caught up in the net. Not if there's some reasonable explanation for what's going on."

"What if there isn't?" whispered Hilda.

Tiger cast up her eyes, as if seeking enlightenment as to how to deal with amateurs; and Udo pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Then make something up," he muttered. Tiger's gaze switched to him instantly, her eyes aglow with suspicion.

"Will you believe me, if I do?" asked Hilda, after a moment of stunned silence.

"D-don't I always?" His low, unsteady tone, embellished with the slightest of stammers, sounded a familiar note in Hilda's memory, resonating faintly with a vague, discordant sense of shame.

She ventured a glance at Tiger, then clasped her hands together, and spoke earnestly. "Udo, the woman they arrested wasn't doing anything, she was just waiting for me. And all I did was try to help a friend. I promise you, that is the truth."

"Is it all of the truth?" he asked. Then, before she could come up with a reply, he added, "Don't tell me." He was silent for some time. "Just my luck," he said at last. "Finally I manage to do something right, and it turns out to have been wrong all along." He broke off for a few seconds, at a burst of raucous laughter from the group of men in the corner. "You'd better go home, Hildegard. There's nothing you can do for your friend. She's in the system now. I'm sorry."

Tiger was watching him closely. Her eyes fell to his untouched glass of _Schnaps_, and her left hand moved ever so slightly, revealing for just a moment that, before placing them on the table as directed, she'd palmed the little glass vial Marya had given her. But Hilda shook her head.

"No," she said. "I can't, not until I know she's safe."

"Hildegard, she's in the cells," Udo pointed out. "Nobody gets out of there. You can't even get in there unless you're on the staff, or a prisoner. So unless you're planning to steal a uniform and try to pass yourself off as one of us...oh, you're not." His sarcasm evaporated, as he noticed her loss of composure. "You can't be serious. Please tell me you're not serious."

It wasn't quite the plan; but it was close enough to make Hilda turn scarlet with confusion. "Udo..."

"No," he interrupted. "I won't permit it. Don't you know what they will do to you, if you're caught?" He broke off, and brushed his hand across his face. "Go home. I'll get her out of there."

Both women stared at him. Tiger's fingers closed on the vial, her eyes slowly narrowing as she assessed the potential value of this unexpected offer, and the probable motives behind it; but Hilda, recalling his boyhood ineptitude, was seized with foreboding. "How?" she faltered.

Unconsciously she laid her hand on his arm. He looked down at it, and gave a soft, hopeless laugh. "I'll think of something."

"You'll get into trouble," Hilda persisted. "You always do, when you try to help. And what happens to you then?"

He sighed. "Well, at least I'll have tried. I've never been much use to the Gestapo, maybe I was meant to be doing something better."

He seemed so despondent that Hilda couldn't help trying to comfort him. "But you made _Unterscharführer_," she murmured.

"Only because I keep out of trouble, and my paperwork's always up to date. To get any further...well, I'd have to stop feeling sorry for people, and I just can't."

"Then why did you join?"

Once again Udo hesitated, before admitting the shameful truth: "My mother told me to. She thought it would keep me away from the front, as well as being a good long-term prospect. She said whatever else happens, there'll always be work for the secret police."

He stood up. "Leave it to me, Hildegard. I'll get your friend out even if it kills me."

"Wait," said Tiger.

He hesitated, his eyes filled with anxious doubt. "You can't talk me out of it," he said. "My mind is made up."

"Of course it is," she replied. She tilted her head slightly, like a scientist analysing a familiar compound which had suddenly started to exhibit new and surprising properties. "But would it not be much better if you could rescue our friend without getting yourself shot?"

"Uh...I suppose so," he mumbled, slowly sitting down again. "But..."

"_Chut_." She held up one finger, and he blushed, and folded his hands. Tiger turned to Hilda. "He is a friend of yours, no?"

"Yes," said Hilda, without hesitation. Udo gave her a startled look, which gradually grew into a slow, bewildered smile.

"Do you believe he means to help?" Tiger leaned across the table, speaking softly, but with deep, intense significance. "Are you completely sure of him? Think carefully before you answer."

But Hilda didn't have to think. All she had to do was remember. "Yes. I'm sure."

Tiger's eyes went back to Udo. She studied him in silence for what felt like a very long time. "Then by all means," she murmured at last, "let him help."


	11. Chapter 11

Udo's resolve went briefly into retrograde at first sight of Marya. "B-b-but...but that is the Russian woman," he stuttered, staring at her in the manner of a baby rabbit meeting its first, and last, wildcat.

She didn't say a word; but the look in her eyes covered as much ground as a full interrogation, and Tiger hastened to bring her up to date, drawing her a little further along the rain-slicked alleyway, and talking rapidly to head off any argument.

"Hildegard, I shouldn't be doing this," Udo mumbled. "Helping your friend is one thing. The worst that can happen is that Hochstetter will have me shot. But working with the Russian woman could get me into real trouble. I suppose the next thing will be that the other one, the French agent, turns up as well...oh." The penny dropped, as he realised what language the two women were speaking.

"She already did, Udo." Hilda suppressed a sigh of exasperation. But his obvious disquiet acted on the sense of guilt she was already feeling. "You know you don't have to help us," she added softly.

He thought about it, then squared his shoulders, and lifted his chin. "I said I would help your friend, and I will. But you don't have to be part of it. Wouldn't you rather go home, and leave it to me and your...these women?"

For a few seconds Hilda wavered. She knew she wasn't cut out for this kind of business. But Marya, who had turned a speculative gaze on their new ally, answered for her, switching with perfect ease from French to German. "Impossible. We can't do without her." Her eyes moved from Udo to Hilda, and back again, before she finally passed judgement: "Well, it won't be as entertaining as my original plan, but it might work."

"As your plan involved kidnapping Hochstetter," said Tiger, "any change to it can only be an improvement."

Udo uttered a faint whimper. " You were not going to..."

"Only if we had to, darling," replied Marya. "And only for long enough to get out of the building."

"You would have destroyed your cover," observed Tiger.

"Not at all." Marya dismissed the suggestion with a wave of her hand. "The Underground forced me to help them. I'm just a helpless woman, what choice did I have?"

Tiger's lips curved into a smile. "None, of course. But now..."

"Now I can say I escaped from Papa Bear and his gang of criminals," replied Marya. "And who should I go to for help, but Major Hochstetter?" She paused, considering. "You say they are taking her to Berlin by train."

Udo nodded, gazing at her with wide eyes; apparently the baby rabbit was now wondering why the wildcat hadn't eaten it yet. "The night express from Paris to Berlin. It passes through Hammelburg just after midnight. Hochstetter will put her on the train personally."

"No, he will not." Marya gave a low laugh. "And I think none of his men will be going with her to Berlin, because there are two special agents already travelling from Paris, and they will take charge of her."

The light of comprehension dawned on Tiger's face; but Udo was clearly in the dark. "He didn't say anything about that," he faltered.

"How could he, when he doesn't know it yet?" said Marya, with a shrug. "Once he gets the telephone call from headquarters in Berlin...by the way, where can we go to call him?"

Udo groaned faintly. "You are not going to telephone Hochstetter and lie to him?"

"Of course not, darling," replied Marya. "You are."

"I am?" His voice ascended to an undignified squeak, and he sat down abruptly on the nearest doorstep. Hilda stooped over him, pale with concern; the other two exchanged glances.

"Don't worry," Marya went on, her voice a soft purr. "We will be right there with you." The prospect did not appear to afford him much comfort; he covered his eyes with his hand, and moaned again.

"Come, we have no time for this," said Tiger. "Hilda, where do you live? If it is close by, and you have a telephone..."

"I board with my uncle and aunt," replied Hilda. "We'd have to take the number 4 tram to the end of the line, and from there it's about..."

"Too far," Tiger interrupted. "What about him?"

Her eyes, and Marya's, fixed on Udo. After a moment, he raised his head. "I live in barracks, with the other SS men...Is there no other way to do this?"

"Well, we can always go back to my original plan," said Marya thoughtfully. "But Tiger seems to think kidnapping Hochstetter is not such a good idea."

Udo stared at her in silence. Slowly, his shoulders drooped. "My mother's house is only a short distance away," he admitted reluctantly, "and she has a telephone."

"Oh, Udo, we can't go there," Hilda protested. "What will your mother think?"

"She isn't there." He staggered to his feet. "She went to Bayreuth last week, to stay with my Aunt Sieglinde. But I have my own house key."

"It sounds perfect. The whole place to ourselves." Marya came close, and stroked his cheek with one finger. He blanched, and moved a little way away, unconsciously seeking shelter behind Hilda; and Marya's eyes narrowed with laughter. "I can't wait," she murmured, in a tone so deep and sultry that it brought the sweat out on Udo's brow. He swallowed, mumbled something incoherent, grasped Hilda's arm as if it were the only means of saving himself from drowning, and set off at a pace scarcely short of complete panic.

"You should not do that, you know," observed Tiger, dropping back into French. "Do you want to frighten him away?"

"No. Frighten him a little, maybe," Marya admitted. "Just to keep in practice. But this one won't run away."

A smile softened the severity of Tiger's aspect. "No, I think not," she replied.

Marya slowed her steps a little, and spoke more quietly. "You can handle the business at the railway station?"

"Of course," said Tiger. "And you will take care of Hochstetter. But there is one problem - the microfilm. You cannot take it with you. If anything should go wrong..."

Marya's eyebrows drew in as she considered the problem . "Slip it into Hilda's purse," she said at last. "As soon as you get back to Strasbourg, send word to Hogan that he will find it in her handbag. Better it falls into American than German hands."

It took only five minutes to reach the house, nestled conveniently in a courtyard off Engelstraße, illuminated by a single street lamp. In the dim, scattered light it looked ridiculously out of place, as if it had escaped from the Brothers Grimm and taken refuge here. Tiger couldn't contain herself. "Very pretty," she murmured, her voice rippling with amusement. "But surely the half-timbering is just painted, not real."

Udo glanced doubtfully at her. "It's been very much admired. The phone is in the sitting room, on the right." He lowered his voice as he opened the door.

Tiger slipped past silently; Marya followed, with a provocative sideways glance. But Hilda lingered just inside the door. "Udo, I'm sorry," she whispered. "I wish..." She broke off, not sure what she was apologising for, aware that although Tiger had already gone on into the sitting room, Marya was loitering, and still within earshot.

Udo's forehead wrinkled, as he looked down at her. But before he could reply, the dimness of the entry passage was abruptly dispersed by a flood of electric light from the landing above. Marya, responding by pure reflex, vanished instantly into the side room, while Hilda, feeling suddenly sick, turned slowly, and looked up.

It was not the Gestapo. It was much worse than that.

Instinctively seeking protection, she moved closer to Udo, and clutched his sleeve. He gripped her hand, drew a deep breath and let it out again. Then he stepped forward.

"Hello, Mamma," he said. "Have you met my friend Hildegard?"


	12. Chapter 12

"I don't remember you mentioning your friend before, Udo" said Frau Schneider.

She stood at the top of the stairs, a tall, dignified figure in a dark crimson robe, glaring down at Hildegard with eyes as blue as her son's, though much shrewder. Hilda smoothed her hair with one hand, and gave the lady a sample of the sweet smile which was so effective against the finest military minds in Germany. But apparently Udo's mother was made of stronger materials than the likes of General Burkhalter, and her answering look was glacial.

Udo gave a nervous snicker. "I didn't expect you back so soon, Mamma. I thought you were still in Bayreuth, staying with Tante Sieglinde."

"Do not mention that woman's name to me," snapped Frau Schneider. "She is no sister of mine. To think she would dare mention that subject again, after all these years...!"

"Ah. I see." Udo glanced at Hilda, then cleared his throat, and shuffled his feet. "Uh...well, Mamma, I expect you're wondering why...why I...well, why Hildegard and I..."

"Please, Frau Schneider, I hope you won't blame Udo," Hilda put in, stepping forward, hands folded as if she were still a schoolgirl. "You see, I missed my tram, and I was waiting for the next one when he just happened to see me. He's such a gentlemen, he couldn't leave me standing out in the rain for an hour, and he wouldn't dream of taking a lady to a bar, or any such place. So he asked if I would like to come and wait here." She read disapproval in Frau Schneider's eyes, and went on, lowering her eyes with uncharacteristic modesty. "Of course, I wouldn't think of accepting such an offer from most men, but Udo is...well, you only have to look at him to know he can be trusted."

Frau Schneider descended two steps. "I brought him up to treat women with respect," she said, thawing half a degree.

"Oh, I just knew he must have a mother like you." Hilda glanced up, her face flushed faintly pink. "You can always tell."

For a moment she thought she'd gone too far. Then Udo's mother gave a thin-lipped smile. "It is very cold tonight. Udo, why don't you make your friend a cup of hot chocolate?" She turned and went back up to the landing, leaving only a final blessing: "Don't stay too late. You need your sleep."

Udo started breathing again, and Hilda pressed her lips together; and a soft laugh came from the darkness of the sitting room: "It seems the secretary has unexpected resources. Tell me, Hilda, how many other protective mothers have you charmed into acquiescence?"

"Don't tease her, Marya," murmured Tiger, appearing in the doorway. "We do not have time for that." She switched on the light, and beckoned Hilda and Udo into the sitting room. "Although I confess, I would like to study your technique," she added softly, as she closed the door.

"I-I don't have a technique," stammered Hilda.

Marya's lips curled into a smile. "That's why it works. Keep watch, Tiger," she said, as she took Udo by the arm and led him to the telephone. "Now, darling, are you ready to do your part? Then listen carefully, this is what you have to say."

She went through the script three times before she let him make the call; and she stayed close as he picked up the phone. But Udo looked to Hilda for encouragement before he spoke, and even so, his voice came out at an unusually high pitch: "Am I speaking to Major Hochstetter? This is Captain Schmidt, aide to General Hausenberg, Section K, Berlin. Uh..." He baulked briefly, with a desperate glance at Marya, then stumbled on. "Uh, in regard to your prisoner, the French Underground woman, Tiger. You are transferring her to our custody tonight...Yes, well, it will not be necessary for you to send your own men as escort, b-because we have a team returning from Paris tonight, on the express. They will take charge of the prisoner for the journey."

He moved the phone a little way from his ear, as Hochstetter's voice became audible. Apparently the major did not look on the suggestion with approval. For a few seconds, Udo seemed ready to drop the charade; he met Hilda's anxious gaze, then lifted his chin, and for once in his life went on the attack. "Major, these orders are from General Hausenberg. If you wish to discuss them with him tomorrow, after he returns from his meeting at Berchtesgaden..." There was a long pause, then Udo spoke again. "Certainly, Major. Our agents will make themselves known to your men when they reach the station. Documentation? Uh...yes...let me just see..."

He covered the mouthpiece. "He wants to know about documentation, written orders for the handover."

"Tell him they will be provided," said Marya. "Don't argue, Udo, just tell him."

"Uh...yes, the documents will be in order, of course. Yes...thank you, _Herr Major_. _Heil Hitler._" With a shaking hand, Udo replaced the receiver, and wiped his forehead. "I'm not sure he believed me," he stammered. "He said he would be there himself to make sure it went smoothly. And he expects to get the paperwork when he arrives. He won't release her to anyone without it."

Marya flicked the problem aside with her fingers. "Don't worry about minor details, darling. Didn't your mother tell you to make hot chocolate for Hilda? And I will have tea. With lemon. Tiger?"

"Coffee," replied Tiger. "Strong."

As Udo, with a worried backward glance, left the room, she turned to Marya. "So, now we have the railway station set up. But it will not work if Hochstetter brings Helga there himself."

"I know," said Marya, sinking into an armchair. "That's my part of the operation, darling."

"Marya, you know this man," Tiger persisted. "He trusts nobody, not even himself. Already he has doubts. It will take something very important indeed to keep him away from the handover."

"And if he sees me there, he'll know at once that something is wrong," added Hilda, her voice trembling.

"He won't be there." Marya clasped her hands together, index fingers pointing upwards. "He thinks he has you, Tiger, and you are a big catch. But Hochstetter is ambitious, and he has more than his share of pride. He will take his eye off the smaller prize, if a bigger one comes into view. That's where I come in."

"With all due respect, _chérie_," said Tiger, bridling, "if you think you are a bigger prize than I am..."

"No, darling." Marya laughed, a deep, soft, cynical chuckle. "Hochstetter doesn't take me so seriously. I hate that I must admit it, but he wouldn't risk losing you for a chance at me. But there's one target which is sure to attract his attention, even from you. One he has been obsessed with, ever since he has been in Hammelburg."

The other two stared at her. "You don't mean..." Hilda faltered.

"You _do_ mean..." whispered Tiger.

"Exactly." Marya half-closed her eyes, and gave a catlike smile. "He will not be at the railway station, because he will be following me, in search of what he wants more than anything - Papa Bear."


	13. Chapter 13

Major Hochstetter sat alone in his office. A dossier was open on the desk in front of him, the same dossier he always turned to, no matter what case he was working on. It was his master file, the one in which he traced every connection, however tenuous, which led back to Stalag 13. The Russian woman's name already appeared on several pages, although so far he had nothing on her but his own instinctive suspicion. As for Tiger, her guilt was beyond question, but he could not find any link. Not yet, anyway.

A knock sounded at the door. "_Herein_!" he growled, closing the file; and his irritation level went up a notch, as Schneider appeared. From the look on the man's face, he was trying to raise the courage to admit he'd lost his handcuffs, again.

"_Bitte, Herr Major_...there is someone here who wishes to speak to you," he stammered. His eyes fell to the dossier, and he added, in a placatory tone, "If you're not too busy."

"I am always busy," replied Hochstetter, pushing the file to one side, as if it were of no importance. "Tell Biedermann to deal with it."

Before Schneider could argue, he was shoved aside, allowing a tempest of silver fox fur to take possession of the office, with a heartrending cry: "Oh, darling, it was horrible! I thought I'd never get away from them!"

As Hochstetter struggled to escape from her embrace, Schneider cleared his throat. "With respect, _Herr Major_, I'm not sure Captain Biedermann is senior enough to..." Hochstetter glared at him, and he fell silent.

With a final effort, the major disentangled himself, and deposited Marya on the nearest chair. "Try to compose yourself, _Fräulein_," he muttered.

She clutched his arm with one hand, and pressed the other to her forehead. "They came to my hotel room," she moaned. "Four men, in black, wearing masks. They drugged me, and carried me off to a strange place."

He regarded her narrowly. "You say you were kidnapped?" he asked, scepticism etched into every line of his face.

"Oh, I was terrified," Marya wailed. "I knew if only I could find you, I would be safe. So I pretended I was still unconscious until I could escape. They followed me. If I hadn't run into your man ..." She broke off, apparently on the point of fainting.

"Sir, she was being pursued when I met her," said Schneider hesitantly. "They scattered as soon as they saw me, and I didn't get a close look at them. But there were four men in black, just as the lady says. And...and I'm almost sure they were foreigners. One of them called out an order to the others, and I think it was in English." He caught a glare from Marya, and added hastily. "I mean, American. It sounded American."

"American." Hochstetter's eyes flickered towards him.

"Or English. I-I can't tell the difference," stammered Schneider.

"Perhaps our Russian friend can tell us." Hochstetter turned back to Marya. "Well, _Fräulein_?"

She cast up her hands. "Please, darling, how should I know? I was in fear of my life. American, English, they could have been Martian for all I cared." Suddenly she straightened up. "One of them did sound familiar, but...no, I could not say for sure." She drooped again, despondently. "If only my head didn't ache so much, perhaps I could remember."

Once again, Hochstetter studied her; this time his expression was unreadable. "Schneider, why don't you fetch the lady a glass of water?" he said slowly.

"Champagne would be better," put in Marya, rallying briefly.

"This is Gestapo headquarters," replied the major. "We don't have champagne."

Once again, she wilted. "Cognac, then."

Hochstetter smiled thinly, and drew Schneider towards the door. "Where did you find her?" he murmured.

Schneider blinked nervously, but that was normal whenever he attracted Hochstetter's attention. "I w-went back to the hotel," he stammered. "I thought p-perhaps we had missed something when we arrested the Frenchwoman. There was nothing, but as I was leaving by the staff entrance, I saw _her_ approaching along the alleyway. She threw herself at me, demanding protection. The men who were following her ran when they saw me. I thought I should bring her straight here. She - she demanded to see you, she was very insistent."

"Of course she was." A gleam of sardonic amusement appeared in Hochstetter's eyes. "It will be part of her plan."

"Her plan, _Herr Major_?" mumbled Schneider uncertainly.

"With this one, Schneider, there is always a plan," said Hochstetter. "Almost certainly she hopes to rescue Tiger before she is sent to Berlin. Well, let us play the game, and see where it leads us."

"Forgive me, _Herr Major_, b-but are you sure?" Schneider glanced at Marya, who had apparently resumed languishing. "She seems genuinely frightened."

Hochstetter uttered a low, contemptuous laugh. "That is precisely why I suspect her. Go and find some cognac."

Schneider sent an apprehensive look towards Marya, then sidled out of the room, while Hochstetter went back to his chair behind the desk. "I trust you are feeling calmer, _Fräulein_," he said. "Perhaps you can tell me something more about your ordeal. You say these men came to your hotel room. When precisely was this?"

She considered, then shook her head. "Once I left you, darling, I lost track of time. I took a bath, ordered some supper."

"Strawberries and champagne. We examined your suite." Hochstetter placed both hands on the desk. "Were you expecting company?"

"Who would I be expecting, darling?"

"Were you planning to leave the hotel again?"

"In such terrible weather? Of course not."

"Of course not," he agreed. "Go on. How did these men gain access to your room?"

Marya sighed. "I don't know. I was in the bedroom, when I heard a noise. I came out, and someone grabbed me from behind. They covered my face with a cloth, and everything went dark. When I woke up, I was in a strange room. I heard two of them talking, so I stayed still and kept my eyes closed. Then another man came in, and they all left together."

"And that's when you escaped." Hochstetter leaned back in his chair, his whole manner expressive of polite disbelief.

"They locked the door. But the lock was faulty." She gazed at him in wide-eyed innocence.

"And how did you find your way back to the Grindelwald?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

"I don't know," Marya replied. "It must have been instinct."

Schneider came back into the room, carrying a tray with a decanter and two glasses, which he placed on the desk. Hochstetter stood up, and walked around to stand close to Marya. "There is something that puzzles me, _Fräulein_," he remarked pleasantly, as he poured the brandy. "It would have been a risky undertaking for these people, snatching you from a busy hotel. With the greatest respect, I don't believe you are important enough for that."

She accepted the glass from him. "What if they saw us when we met at the café?" she suggested, after a few moments of thought. "If they thought I had given you some information..."

"Information about Tiger, perhaps," put in Schneider; then flushed, as Hochstetter glowered at him.

Marya's eyes turned to him as well. "Tiger...that sounds familiar..." She pressed her fingers to her brow, swaying a little. "The men who took me said something about a tiger. I thought it was strange."

Hochstetter's hand clenched around his own glass of brandy. "What did they say, _Fräulein_?"

"They said..." She closed her eyes, as if trying to remember. "They said there would be a tiger on the Berlin Express, and they had to be sure to be at the station before the train left so as to stop it from being sent to Berlin. That is it, darling! They are planning to steal your tiger!"


	14. Chapter 14

"_Herr Major_, it seems clear from what the Russian woman says that the Underground intend to attempt some kind of rescue operation at the railway station," said Captain Biedermann. "Under the circumstances, would it not be more prudent to delay the transfer of the prisoner, or send her to Berlin by car instead of by train?"

The other two officers involved in the discussion made noises of agreement. They had convened in the corridor, leaving Marya in comfortable possession of Hochstetter's office under the supervision of a nervous-looking private.

Udo, hovering at the edge of the conference, was hard put to keep from protesting. Marya's strategy had left him confused. If there was one aspect of the plan he had grasped, it was that the rescue would happen at the railway station. But Marya had effectively given the game away, and now Hochstetter had called his most trusted officers together to consider their next move.

The major now turned a calculating gaze on Biedermann. "So, you think Tiger's friends have some kind of operation in play? An armed assault at the railway station, perhaps? Or do you suspect they will stop the train once it has left Hammelburg?"

"Well, it seems from what the witness tells us..." said Biedermann.

Hochstetter cut him off. "She tells us what she wants us to believe. There will be no rescue at the station. What Fräulein Marya wants is for us to send Tiger by road, so they can ambush the car. Or it might be that her plan is to have us turn out in force at the station to arrest any Underground members who might be there. Except they won't be there. They will be here, releasing Tiger and any other prisoners from the cells." He gave a dry chuckle. "She is clever, this one, but not clever enough. The transfer goes ahead as scheduled. Biedermann, you will escort the prisoner to the train and hand her over. You will take four men. That should be sufficient, should any trouble arise. All other available men will remain here, on alert in case of an attack."

"_Jawohl, Herr Major_," replied Biedermann briskly. Then, with a little less assurance, he added, "With permission, sir, may I ask whether you will be coming to the station, or staying here?"

Hochstetter's eyes gleamed malevolently. "I will interrogate our informant further. It is just possible she can be persuaded to lead us to the criminals' hideout."

He looked at his watch. "The train is due at midnight. It is now 23:30. Biedermann, you will bring the prisoner up from the cells at 23:45, and take her directly to the station. You will transfer custody only once you have been presented with written orders. Hügel, I am placing you in charge here. If anything goes wrong, heads will roll. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly clear, _Herr Major_."

"Good." Hochstetter turned on his heel, and returned to his office. His officers exchanged glances, and went their separate ways, leaving only Udo standing in the corridor, feeling slightly dizzy. Marya had played it right, after all; and there was no doubt that, after the rescue had taken place at the station, she would give Hochstetter one of those candid, wide-eyed looks of hers, throw up her hands, and say, "But, darling, I told you so."

One problem remained; Hochstetter had insisted on written orders before the transfer took place. But orders were easily typed up, as long as the appropriate stationery was available; and here at Gestapo headquarters there was a plentiful supply of Gestapo letterhead. With a quick glance around to make sure he wasn't being watched, Udo headed down to the typists' office. So late in the evening, and with headquarters on alert, he'd have the place to himself.

For once he didn't have to worry about accuracy; in fact, it gave him a little thrill of illicit joy as he addressed the document to _Major W. Hackstetter. _Doubtless the major's lip would curl at sight of the numerous errors, unsightly setting-out and heavy overtyping; but he'd never associate this document with Udo, whose reports were generally meticulous to the point of obsession.

It occurred to him, as he typed, that there would scarcely have been time for orders to be prepared; anyone departing Paris for Berlin would have already been on the train when Helga had been arrested. So the orders would have to be prepared by one of the offices between Paris and Hammelburg, and delivered to the train. Udo found himself grinning. Hochstetter had running feuds with a lot of other Gestapo officers, but if there was one he despised more than another, it was Major Sachs, of the Frankfurt office. Biedermann wouldn't query the name, when he saw it on orders; but Hochstetter would probably turn apoplectic.

The door opened, and Udo, his fingers already grasping the page to pull it from the roller, gave it a harder yank than he had meant to, crumpling the top edge. He stared at the intruder.

Private Geisler gazed back in mild perplexity. "I...I heard the typewriter," he faltered. "I didn't realise it was you."

"Just completing my report on the arrest this evening," replied Udo brusquely.

"Couldn't that wait till tomorrow?" asked Geisler, taking a step forward, a slight, doubtful frown displacing his normally vacant expression

Udo's mind went blank. If Geisler realised what he was doing...if he reported the matter to Hochstetter...

"These are dangerous times, Walter. We must be prepared at any moment to give our lives for the Fatherland. And if I were to die tonight, leaving my paperwork unfinished, how would I explain it to Major Hochstetter?"

He broke off, astonished at himself. He had no idea where that had come from. But Geisler took it at face value. "You're right," he said. "As a matter of fact, there's some filing I've been putting off. Perhaps I should..."

"Yes. You should do that." Udo began to read through the document he'd just typed. But he didn't start breathing normally again until Geisler had backed out, and closed the door; and it took a few seconds for him to control the trembling of his hands enough to scrawl some kind of signature at the bottom of the order. Then he folded the page, put it into an envelope, and slipped it into his breast pocket, before he left the typists' room.

Faking the documentation was only half the task. He still had to ensure he was part of the detail taking Helga to the station. He ran down the stairs to the ground floor, paused briefly to catch his breath, and proceeded more slowly to the cells beneath the building.

It was now fifteen minutes to midnight, and Biedermann, with his squad, was already down there, waiting at the main door for the guards in charge to bring the prisoner out. Udo hung back for a moment; but both Tiger and Marya had assured him that, no matter which SS man he targeted, this would work. Holding his breath, he sidled up to the man at the back, touched him on the shoulder, and withdrew slightly. As soon as they were far enough along the passage to speak safely, he beckoned the man closer.

"They know about you," he whispered.

The response was immediate. The soldier went white, and his eyes opened wide. "How?" Then, before Udo could think of a reply, he shook his head. "No, don't tell me. Have I got time?"

"Maybe, if you leave at once. I'll cover for you." Udo jerked his head towards the exit, and the soldier, with a murmur of thanks, made himself scarce.

_Every man is guilty of something. _Tiger's words echoed in his ears. He didn't want to know how she'd learned that; nor did he want to know what particular murky secret he'd just stirred up. He put it out of his mind, and took his place with the other men.

A few moments later, the heavy door opened, and the prisoner was brought out. She kept her eyes lowered, but if she had been crying, there was no sign of it now. She was handcuffed; she still had no shoes, and involuntarily her toes curled in reaction to the coldness of the stone floor.

"Sign here, please," said the custody sergeant, handing Biedermann a clipboard. "_Danke_. She is now your responsibility."

Biedermann nodded to his men. "Bring her."

Two of them stepped forward, one on each side of the prisoner, who scarcely cleared their shoulders. She glanced up at Biedermann, then at the men standing behind him. Her eyes met Udo's; he read bitter reproach there, but not the faintest flicker of regret or pity crossed his face. He didn't dare show any weakness now.

He had no way to let her know why he was there; she couldn't guess that help was waiting for her, just a few minutes away. But that one look had released something, some unexpected well-spring of resolution lying deep within him.

This was no longer just about Hildegard. He'd kept his eyes closed for too long. Now they were well and truly open. It was time to start doing what he knew was right.

* * *

><p><em>Note: Sorry this chapter has been delayed. I've got some stuff going on, and it's interfering with my writing time. The next few chapters are likely to be slow, too, but they will come, eventually.<em>


	15. Chapter 15

Almost ten minutes had passed since Hochstetter had returned to his office, but neither he nor Marya had spoken a single word. He sat behind his desk, signing reports, showing no interest in his visitor; she had arranged herself in languorous comfort in one of the deep leather armchairs. Her eyes were half-closed, as if her ordeal had left her drained of both energy and spirit, but Hochstetter couldn't rid himself of the feeling that, behind the heavy fringes of her eyelashes, she was mocking him. Not that it mattered. He would have the last laugh.

He finished his work, laid the last document precisely on top of the previous ones, screwed the lid back on his fountain pen and put it carefully into the right-hand drawer. Then he clasped his hands loosely on top of the blotter, and leaned forward, with the kind of smile that might make crocodiles nervous.

"So, _Fräulein_," he said, "why don't you tell me more about this kidnapping?"

She opened her eyes. "I have already told you what happened," she replied. "And you have done nothing about it."

"On the contrary, my dear. I have set certain procedures into operation." He tilted his head slightly, assessing her reaction.

"What procedures?" she asked, after a moment.

He chuckled softly. "Let us just say that we are well prepared to meet any attempt to free Tiger by force, at the railway station...or elsewhere." He allowed a slightly interrogative note to creep into his voice, and he thought he saw a faint shadow cross her face.

"They said they would be at the station." Her voice and manner turned plaintive. "What's wrong, darling? After knowing me all this time, you don't trust me?"

"After knowing you all this time, my dear _Fräulein_," he replied acidly, "I know exactly how far I can trust you."

His dark, analytical gaze met the northern lights of her eyes, and for a moment he thought he saw a faint, fleeting uncertainty, before she shrugged, and looked away. "Very well. I have told you what I know. If you choose to disregard it..."

"Oh, I don't disregard it," he interrupted. "Let me assure you, Tiger's friends will find a surprise waiting for them, when they arrive."

"At the railway station?" Her lips tightened, as if she were trying not to smile. He inclined his head slightly. For now, let her think her little scheme had worked.

"You need not concern yourself with that," he said. "Let us instead investigate your abduction. What can you tell me about the kidnappers?"

Marya wrinkled her brow. "Oh, darling, they were monsters, all of them. Absolute brutes."

"Absolute brutes. This is a very helpful description. Can you not be a little more specific? Surely there was something, some detail you noticed which might help to identify them."

"They wore masks. I never saw their faces."

"Maybe not. But perhaps you can tell me whether they were short or tall, fat or thin. Or perhaps there was something unusual about how they spoke. You said one of them seemed familiar. Was it the one who spoke like an American?"

She held up her hands in a gesture of bewilderment. "Please, darling, how could I tell whether he spoke American? The only American I know is..."

"Colonel Hogan." Hochstetter finished the sentence with her.

"It wasn't him," she said after a few seconds.

"You seem very certain."

"Darling, if it had been Hogan, I would have recognised him the moment he laid hands on me." Her voice dropped to a husky murmur, and behind those distracting eyelashes her eyes were very bright.

"That I can believe," he replied dryly. "Nevertheless, I suspect he is involved somehow in this matter."

"Then by all means, call Stalag 13. Colonel Klink will soon tell you if any of the prisoners are missing." The shadow of a smirk flitted across her face. "Assuming you can wake him up."

Hochstetter glowered at her. "I am sure a conversation with Klink at this hour of night would be most...enlightening," he growled. "However, if Hogan is in fact in his barracks, it would be a waste of time, and if he is not, the Kommandant would certainly not admit it. Or at least, the effort required to drag the information from him might cause me to burst a blood vessel. Again."

He leaned back in his chair, watching her closely. "Very well. We will soon find out who is the instigator of this plot. If he does not take part in the attempt to free the prisoner, we will certainly capture some of his followers, and I have no doubt we will persuade some of them to talk. We have only to wait."

He rose to his feet, and went to look out of the window; and once again, silence took possession of the office. After a couple of minutes she uttered a sigh. He turned, making no effort to mask his amusement. "Is something troubling you, _Fräulein_?"

She pressed her fingers to her brow. "I have such a terrible headache," she murmured. "After what I went through tonight, I'm exhausted. I should be in bed, even though I am sure I won't be able to sleep at all. You must take me back to my hotel, and then stay in my room to protect me in case they come back."

Although Hochstetter knew she was just toying with him, her demand sent a shiver down his spine. "I think not," he snapped. "It will be easier to keep you here, and if you want to try to sleep, there are beds available - in the cells."

"Darling!" she protested, opening her eyes. "Why are you being so cruel to me? I'm doing my best to co-operate with you, but you won't let me help you. You haven't even asked me about Papa Bear."

He hadn't expected that, and for several seconds his every thought was paralysed. "What do you know about Papa Bear?" he asked at last.

"Nothing, darling. Only what I overheard. Those brutes were talking about him. Is he important?"

"He could be," Hochstetter replied, regaining his equilibrium with an effort. "What did they say?"

"Something about a rendezvous with him. They were to bring this Tiger to him, once they had her. He was going to wait for them at...at..." She put her hand over her eyes. "Where was it? Let me think for a moment. It was..."

Hochstetter waited, every nerve stretched. His instinct was to reject this as another trick. But if she was speaking the truth, then one of the Third Reich's most pernicious enemies lay within his grasp. He might well be on the point of delivering a double blow to their enemies, taking both Tiger and the elusive Papa Bear; a master stroke such as he would not have dared to dream about. And yet here it was, right in front of him, if only this infuriating woman would tell him where the meeting was to take place.

"Well?" he snapped at last. "Where was it?"

"Don't rush me, darling," she moaned. "If you knew how my head was spinning..." She closed her eyes. "Is there a place somewhere near here called Hofbrew?"

"The Hofbrau," he said sharply.

"Yes, yes, that's it. They were going to meet Papa Bear at the Hofbrau. Hochstetter, you're brilliant, darling!"

Marya straightened up, beaming with delight, instantly cured of her headache. Hochstetter smiled, too. He would go to the Hofbrau, and he would take her with him. If this was just a ruse to get him out of the way while the Underground made their move, no matter; Tiger's would-be rescuers were heading straight into a trap, and his absence would make no difference. But if he did indeed capture Papa Bear, the Hammelburg Underground would take months to recover from the loss.

More importantly still, he had the chance to prove that he had been right all along. He could establish, once and for all, that Hogan was the ringleader in the epidemic of mayhem around Hammelburg. Let him just walk into the Hofbrau, and see the complacent smirk disappear from the American's face, and there wouldn't be a happier Gestapo in the entire Third Reich than Wolfgang Hochstetter.


	16. Chapter 16

Lurking in the shadows at the dark end of the railway platform was yet another new experience for Hildegard, and not a particularly happy one. In fact, had she not constantly reminded herself that Helga's evening had probably been even more wretched than her own, she would very likely have burst into tears and fled.

She kept behind one of the pillars, with the collar of her coat - Marya's coat - turned up, not just to keep out the cold. A scarf, borrowed without permission from Udo's mother, concealed the fair shimmer of her hair, and further changes to her appearance had been made with a few subtle, well-blended touches of make-up applied by Tiger's expert hand.

"Just in case any of Hochstetter's dogs should recognise you, if they have seen you at Stalag 13," she had explained. "They would remember you, if they had. After all, even the vilest of SS animals are men, of a kind. So I have been told." She seemed to consider the assertion somewhat dubious.

Hilda had submitted without protest. She was long beyond being surprised at anything she was obliged to do tonight. But now, left alone for a few minutes, she began to wonder if she would ever find her way out of this murky underworld into which Marya had dragged her.

No, that was unfair. Marya had done everything in her power to prevent her and Helga from getting involved. Following her into the darkness had been their own choice.

There must be a leak in the roof over this part of the platform; a steady rivulet of rainwater trickled down the pillar, pooling in a gradually expanding puddle at the base. Hilda moved away from it, and shivered. It seemed as if Tiger was never coming back, but finally she emerged from the left-luggage office, bringing with her the little suitcase Helga had left there a lifetime ago; glanced up and down the platform, then walked slowly towards where Hilda was waiting.

"They did not even look twice," she said. "I could have been anyone, and they would have handed her case over. Sometimes I find it incredible how stupid the Germans..." She broke off, remembering who she was speaking to. After a few moments she changed the subject. "It is almost time. Hochstetter's men will arrive soon. The train stops here for six minutes, so that is all the time we will have. You understand what you have to do?"

Hilda tried to answer, but her throat was too tight. So she nodded, with a tiny, wavering smile. Tiger's expression softened, and she put her hand on Hilda's shoulder.

"Do not worry," she murmured. "Somehow, no matter how wild they seem, Marya's plans almost always succeed." She paused briefly, as if hesitating. "I have not yet had the chance to thank you for what you did tonight. I know it was not easy to find the courage to act, and I will never forget that you and your friend chose to help us."

"Oh, please, don't say that," Hilda broke out. "You don't understand. I don't deserve it. I...it wasn't what you think. I wouldn't have dared, if it wasn't for..." She stammered off into an embarrassed silence.

"But of course I understand," said Tiger softly. "I know him, too. But you didn't take such a risk, only for that."

"Maybe. I don't know." Hilda gazed along the track, where in the distance the lights of the express train could be seen. "I'm not like you and Marya. I know my country has gone wrong, terribly wrong, but I'm too scared to do anything about it. But when I thought about what the Gestapo might do, if they found out everything..."

"You couldn't let it happen," Tiger finished up. "You care that much about him. And you know how important it is that he continue the fight against the wickedness that has brought shame on your country." Her voice deepened into warmth. "_Ma chère Hilda_, to be afraid, and yet to follow the course one knows to be right, that is true bravery."

A question, born of this sudden intimacy, sprang to Hilda's lips, but even if she had dared give it voice, the roar of the engine, and the sharp, piercing shriek of the whistle, would have drowned it out. In any case, there was no time for further conversation. Hochstetter's men had not yet brought Helga to the platform; as Tiger had pointed out, the less time they spent in the open, the less risk they faced of losing their prisoner. This gave the rescue party a few seconds to add another detail to the performance.

Before the train came to a complete stop, Tiger moved swiftly forward, and with unexpected agility grasped the handle of the door on the end carriage, swung it open and hopped nimbly aboard. Hilda braced herself and followed. She stumbled, fell forward and hit her knee against the step, but she made it. In a few moments, the Gestapo men would see them alight from the train, just as they were meant to.

"_Ça va_?" whispered Tiger. "Then come, quickly." She hastened along the corridor until she found an empty compartment, where she dropped Helga's case on one of the seats, before looking out of the window. "They have just come from the stationmaster's office. Your friend Udo is with them, but Hochstetter is not." Her lips quivered. "If only I could have been there to see how Marya deals with him. I do not envy her, but I almost pity him."

She turned to her companion. "Are you ready? But of course you are. Then let us go and rescue our friend."

The squad of SS men had formed up so close around their prisoner that at first Hildegard wasn't even sure Helga was there, until she caught sight of her golden hair and pale face among the heavy black uniforms. Udo was there, standing just to the left of the officer in charge, who was gazing along the length of the train, trying to spot the Gestapo agents. Without hesitation, Tiger went straight up to him, with Hilda just a few paces behind her.

"_Heil Hitler_!" Tiger delivered the greeting in a clipped, brittle voice, completely foreign to her usual soft tones.

The officer turned his head, regarding the two women with the deep mistrust which came naturally to men of his kind. Tall, broad in the shoulder, with an air of menace, he loomed like some dark nightmare above Tiger's slender form. "Can I help you, _Fräulein_?" he asked, after a pause which stretched Hilda's tightly wound nerves almost to breaking point.

Tiger, however, took it in her stride. "My name is Ernst," she replied in her faultless German. "Section K, Berlin. And you are...?"

He stared at her, his threatening aspect shading into incredulity. "Biedermann. _Hauptsturmführer _Biedermann. You are the special agents travelling from Paris?"

"That is correct," replied Tiger. "Our orders are to take charge of a French citizen, one Marie-Louise Monet, and bring her to Gestapo headquarters in Berlin for intensive interrogation. Is this the woman?"

She looked past him, studying the prisoner with almost clinical detachment. Helga, too weary and despondent to be curious, glanced at her briefly. Then, as her dull gaze drifted to Tiger's companion, she caught her breath. An exclamation trembled on her lips, but she held it back, closing her lips firmly, and blinking rapidly.

For a few seconds, Biedermann didn't speak. His expression hardened as he scrutinised this beautiful, delicate-looking creature who had made such an astonishing claim. "I was not aware that women were being recruited as field agents to the _Geheime Staatspolizei_," he said at last.

"I am sure you were not." Tiger turned her attention back to him at once. "Why should you be informed of something that is no concern of yours? The use of female operatives has proven extremely effective under certain circumstances." She smiled, a distant, icy smile which discouraged further questioning.

Biedermann was visibly disconcerted, but not sufficiently to let go of his suspicion. "I must ask to see your identification papers."

She handed him her documentation, and watched with cool scorn while he inspected it. "It says you are a schoolteacher," he remarked.

"When was the last time you saw an ID card stating the owner's occupation as Gestapo agent?" asked Tiger contemptuously. "The whole point of a secret police network is to be secret. Otherwise we would be called the glaringly obvious police, would we not?" She glanced at her watch. "We have wasted enough time. The train is due to leave in three minutes."

"Very well, _Fräulein_. You have the necessary orders, of course."

"Of course." She turned to Hilda. "Give this officer the orders."

Hildegard took a deep breath, and stepped forward, fumbling with her handbag. It slipped from her fingers, and fell to the platform, just as she meant it to. It was only natural that the nearest SS man should step forward and pick it up for her, and it was no accident that Udo was in exactly the right position to do so. And as he gave it back to her, with his back to the rest of the men, he also slipped an envelope into her hand. She clutched it tightly, whispered her thanks, and turned at once to Biedermann.

"The orders," she murmured, handing him the envelope.

"These appear to be correct," he said, after reading them through. "However, I feel it is my duty to give the matter further consideration."

Tiger's eyes flashed, but she maintained her icy demeanour. "If we are not in Berlin, with Mademoiselle Monet in our charge, by nine o'clock tomorrow," she snapped out, "you will have all the time you need to think it over, on your way to the Russian Front. I have an appointment with General Hausenberg, and the prisoner also has a pressing engagement. I believe _Reichsführer _Himmler is planning a personal welcome for her. But if you want to explain the delay to the _Reichsführer_, then by all means, let us wait."

He wavered briefly; seemed about to make a comeback, but finally capitulated, and gestured to his men. Tiger, sublimely indifferent to her triumph, stepped forward and took a firm grip on Helga's arm; Hildegard, feeling almost sick with relief, moved in as well.

"Are you sure you will be able to handle her?" asked Biedermann, making a last rally. "She is a very dangerous woman."

Tiger, already hustling her companions back to the train, dismissed his final attempt with a chilly glare, and three words: "So am I."

"Hilda...what...how..." As soon as they were on board, Helga found her voice, though she was scarcely coherent.

Tiger hushed her at once. "_Attention. _They are still watching. Come, we must hurry." She led the way back to their compartment, and pushed Helga onto the seat. "We are lucky nobody tried to take our seats," she said, looking out of the window. Biedermann was still watching them; she pulled down the blind. "You must go, Hilda," she added. "You have only a minute to get off the train."

Hildegard hesitated for a few seconds, her eyes on Helga's pale, drawn face and trembling limbs. "I can't leave Helga," she stammered. "She needs me."

"You must," replied Tiger. "You have done your part. Now, for everyone's sake, you must return home, and act as if this night never happened. I will take care of Helga. I promise you that." She put her hands on Hilda's shoulders, and kissed her on both cheeks. "_Merci, et bonne chance_," she murmured softly.

Hilda tried to answer, but couldn't speak. She gripped Tiger's hand, tightly, and gave Helga a tremulous, apologetic smile; then without another word, she left the compartment and hurried back towards the front of the carriage, where the platform still lay in near darkness. The shriek of the whistle gave warning as she almost fell from the step, and once again took refuge in the shadows.

In the compartment, Helga seemed hardly aware that the train was moving. Tiger, taking the seat opposite, watched with concern. She knew by experience what Helga had been through that night.

"Did they hurt you?" she asked at last.

"What...? No. No, they didn't. But he said..." Helga's voice faltered and failed.

"I know," said Tiger. "I understand. But you are safe now. Tell me on the way, if you want to, but once you reach home, you must try to put it from your mind, and never speak of it, not to anyone. It will be safer that way. You understand?"

"I...yes, I understand." Helga breathed in deeply, and shivered. "I can't believe it's over. And you...I don't even know you, but..." She looked up, her eyes wide with puzzled wonder.

"You're Tiger," she said.

Tiger confirmed the guess with a brilliant, beautiful smile. "And you are a friend of Colonel Hogan, no?"

"B-but how did you know?" Helga stammered. "Where did Hilda find you? And...and what about Hochstetter, where is he? If he comes after us..."

"Do not worry about him." A fleeting spark of malicious laughter glimmered in the amber depths of Tiger's eyes. "_Le pauvre _! he doesn't stand a chance."

* * *

><p>The train was gone. Gradually, the platform became deserted, and the station settled into silence and sleep. Only one single weary soul remained.<p>

It was over. Helga and Tiger were safely out of Hammelburg; Marya, presumably, was still keeping Hochstetter busy. Udo had left with the other SS men. Everything had gone exactly as they'd hoped, and it was silly for Hilda to feel as if she'd been abandoned. But she was so tired, and so overwrought, that she felt like sitting down, right there on the rain-slicked concrete, and going into hysterics.

She was cold, and damp, and she had skinned her knee scrambling onto the train; and she was all alone.

It had to be like this, of course. There was no alternative but for her to be left behind, to find her way home on her own. She hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye to Helga; and it was likely they'd never meet again, at least as long as the war lasted.

For some time, she remained where she was, huddled in the warmth of her borrowed coat. The hint of scent which clung to it was her only comfort; it was almost as if some essence of its owner lingered close by. But that was small consolation, and in spite of her bravest efforts, tears stung her eyes, and intermittent sobs caught in her throat.

She had no idea how long she had been there; she didn't even hear the approaching footsteps. But she almost jumped out of her skin when a tentative voice spoke, just behind her: "Hildegard..."

She spun round. "Udo? What are you doing here?"

He blushed, and gave her a shy, anxious half-smile. "I thought you would still be here. I slipped away as soon as I could. It's too late for you to go home on your own, the trams stopped running at midnight. I brought a car."

Hilda's eyes widened. "What if you're missed? Oh, Udo, you'll get into trouble."

"I won't be missed," he replied. "They're not exactly checking who is where, they're too busy waiting for the Underground people to make their move. Nobody knows where Major Hochstetter has gotten to, but wherever he is, most of them probably think I'm with him. Anyway, I have to make sure you get home safely. Marya told me to. And...and I want to." He finished in a very low voice, looking away, going even redder.

She gazed at him, her vision blurring as yet another rush of tears threatened her equanimity; but this time, they sprang from a sudden blossoming of warmth, deep in her heart.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for everything, Udo."

Only a few hours earlier, she had passed him at the door of the Hotel Grindelwald, and instantly forgotten his existence. She wasn't sure what her feelings were towards him now, but she was quite certain, she would never forget him again.


	17. Chapter 17

"Open up!"

Hochstetter glared up at the dark and silent façade of the Hofbrau, then pounded on the door again.

"Shall we try the back entrance, _Herr Major_?" asked one of his men.

He considered the suggestion. "I will go. Two of you stay here, in case they try to leave. Geisler, come with me." His eye fell on Marya, lounging negligently against the side of the staff car, enfolded in that preposterous silver fur coat. "You will come with me, too," he added. "I want you where I can see you, every minute."

"Darling, I'm flattered," murmured Marya. "I thought you just wanted to be friends."

"Bah!" He turned on his heel, and started towards the gate which gave access to the back of the building.

"What is going on?" The voice, coming from an upstairs window, sounded sleepy and irritable. Hochstetter stopped in his tracks, and swung round.

"Are you the owner of these premises?" he demanded. "You will come down at once and open the door."

His manner was authoritarian, his aspect threatening, but the owner of the Hofbrau was unimpressed. "We're closed," he called down, and prepared to shut the window.

"Oh, please, you must let us in," protested Marya. "I'm dying from the cold."

"That is not my problem."

"It will very soon be your problem, if you don't open this door," Hochstetter put in. "Do you know who I am?"

"I know about as much as I care, which is not at all. It is after midnight, and we are closed for business. You'll have to take your sweetheart somewhere else."

"This woman is not my - " Hochstetter's outraged denial broke off abruptly. After a moment, he continued through gritted teeth. "The _Fräulein _is a person of interest in a Gestapo investigation - an investigation which you are obstructing. Now, are you going to let us in, or must my men break down the door?"

"Gestapo?" The man's peevishness evaporated in an agitated squeak. "Wait, I'll be right down."

Marya laughed, soft and low. "Hochstetter, you are magnificent. I had no idea you could be so forceful." She countered his furious glower with a sultry, provocative smile, and slid past him towards the tavern door, deliberately brushing against him on the way. It had an effect, all right; the soft tickle of the fox fur almost made him sneeze.

He went in after her, and looked around suspiciously. The restaurant was deserted, the chairs on the tables, the floor swept clean. Turning to his men, he snapped out an order: "Search the entire building."

The proprietor, with his braces dangling from his waist and his shirt buttons skew, hastily set a chair for Marya. "Please, forgive me, _Herr Major_," he stammered. "I did not realise...if there's anything you need...can I bring you something to drink? On the house, of course." He glanced uneasily towards the back store-room, from which were coming sounds indicating that the search was proceeding in the usual fashion.

Marya gave him a languid smile as she sat down. "Hochstetter, what is the most suitable refreshment after midnight?"

"Nothing," snapped Hochstetter. "We are not here to sample the wine list."

His men emerged from the store-room; two of them stormed up the stairs, the third headed for the cellar. The owner had to sidestep quickly to avoid being trampled. "I have a _vieille réserve_ Calvados under the counter," he offered.

Marya considered the suggestion. "We will have it," she said.

"No, we will not," snapped Hochstetter.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, Hochstetter, don't be such a wet blanket. We have a long night ahead of us. If you would only loosen up, just think how much fun we could have."

With an effort, he suppressed the emphatic rejection which rose to his lips. He even managed to keep his voice relatively calm. "Let me remind you, _Fräulein_, that we are here because you came to me an hour ago, claiming that you had been terrorised by the Underground."

Her eyes glittered. "I know, darling."

"Well? Shall I fetch the brandy?" asked the owner.

"If you do, I will shoot you." Hochstetter fixed him with a fierce glower, then turned as a clatter of boots on the stairs announced the return of his men.

"Nothing, _Herr Major_," reported Geisler. "There is nobody else in the building."

Hochstetter turned on Marya. "Well, _Fräulein_?"

"So I got the name wrong," she replied with a shrug. "Now I think about it, it wasn't Hofbrau. It was Hof...Hof...Haushof? Hausenhof?"

"The Hauserhof," suggested Geisler.

She held out a hand, the light of recollection dawning in her eyes. "Yes - yes, I think that's it. How foolish of me, to drag you all to the wrong place! What is this Hauserhof, anyway?"

"It's a hotel," he said helpfully. "They do a very good _Sauerbraten_, although it's better at..."

"Enough!" Hochstetter cut him off. "We will go to the Hauserhof. But I warn you, _Fräulein_, if this is a fool's errand..."

"Oh, how you hurt me, with your lack of faith," she sighed. "But I will be vindicated, and you will come begging for my forgiveness."

"What about your drinks?" ventured the proprietor, as his uninvited guests made for the door, but the only response he received from Hochstetter was a wordless, formless snarl of rage.

A smouldering silence held sway in the car during the short drive to the Hotel Hauserhof. On arrival, however, Hochstetter turned a piercing glare on his witness. "Are you certain this is the place?" he demanded.

"Darling, I can be certain of nothing when you look at me like that," she sighed. "But I think that was what I heard. They said they would meet Papa Bear at the Hauserhof."

He grunted, and got out of the car.

"...or maybe it was the Kaiserhof," she added meditatively.

Hochstetter turned back slowly. "The Kaiserhof?"

"That is an inn, outside of town, in the direction of Stalag 13," said the ever-helpful Geisler. "The _Wiener Schnitzel_ was excellent, but the owners were arrested for aiding escaped Allied prisoners, and it has been vacant ever since."

"Then it can't be the place," said Marya, dismissing the idea with a wave of her hand. "An abandoned building, close to Stalag 13 - why would Papa Bear choose such a terrible place for a rendezvous?"

"It would be perfect," Hochstetter muttered, as if to himself. "He could meet his fellow criminals, start Tiger on the escape route, and be back inside the camp before morning roll call."

For a moment he hesitated, then he flung himself back into the vehicle, with a curtly expressed order: "To the Kaiserhof."

It took some twenty minutes to reach the old inn, by which time the rain had set in again, this time in earnest. "Turn off the headlights," said Hochstetter, as they neared their destination. "I want to take him by surprise."

As soon as the car had stopped, he drew his pistol, and stepped out of the car, his boots squelching in the mud. "This time you can wait here," he told Marya.

For a moment he stood still, searching for any signs of activity; then he beckoned his men to follow, and crept forward. The door creaked as he pushed it open; his footsteps, and those of his men, fell dead on the floor. Apart from the heavy spatting of the rain, there was no other discernable sound.

After several seconds, he turned on his flashlight, and made a brief assessment of the lobby. It must have been quite welcoming, before it fell into disuse; even with its layers of dust and neglect, it had a traditional, old-fashioned charm about it. The reception desk was plain but well-made, the stove decorated with floral tiles, and the walls embellished with rows of blue-and-white china plates. A doorway at one side gave access to the restaurant, decorated in much the same style.

Without speaking, Hochstetter waved towards the stairs; and as two of his men ascended as silently as possible, he turned to Geisler and jerked his head towards the door which must lead to the kitchens. Geisler went to the door, and peered through the circular window, then cautiously pushed it open.

"Nobody here," he whispered.

"Of course there is nobody here. Nobody could stand it. It's so depressing." The voice of the Russian woman echoed through the empty building. Hochstetter spun round, then stumbled forward as Geisler, reacting in the same way. cannoned into him from behind.

"Oh, darling, did I scare you?" Marya gazed at him apologetically.

He made an effort to regain his self-possession. "You were told to wait in the car," he snapped.

"I was frightened, all alone in the dark." She took his arm, and snuggled up to him. "Let me stay with you."

He shook her off, just as the other two SS men came thudding in. "We found no-one, _Herr Major_."

"Maybe it was the Hauserhof, after all," said Marya. "It must be, darling. Surely there can't be many other places with names ending in _hof_."

"What about the Hotel Hammelburg Hof?" asked Geisler after a pause.

Hochstetter glared at him. "I know of no such place," he said.

"It used to be called the Hofburg Hof, _Herr Major_, but they changed the name," replied Geisler. "There is also a guesthouse in town called the Adlerhof, as well as Hofman's Dance Academy, and the Gartenhof Theatre."

Marya gave voice to an exasperated groan. "You Germans! Why must you end all your place names the same way? If it's not called something-hof, it's sure to be something-berg_._"

"That's another one," added Geisler. "On the Bundesplatz there is the Hotel Berghof."

"Enough of this!" Hochstetter's bellow seemed to set the entire building trembling. "_Fraulein_, you have wasted enough of my time on this ridiculous chase. By now, my men will have taken Tiger's friends into custody. My time will be better employed in interrogating them than in allowing you to lead me all over Hammelburg to no purpose. And I suspect that you will also have a few questions to answer."

Without waiting for a reply, he swung round and stomped out to the car. Marya gazed after him, her eyes glittering. "So temperamental," she sighed. "He should have been Russian."

Not a word was spoken on the way back to headquarters. Hochstetter stared out of the window, trying to work out how the situation had slipped from his grasp and into the hands of this devious, infuriating foreigner.

He had Tiger. That was enough. All the rest was mere distraction.

As the car drew up before the front steps of the Gestapo building, he leapt out and confronted one of the guards on duty. "Well? Has anything happened?"

"No, _Herr Major_," replied the guard. "_Hauptsturmführer_ Biedermann has returned. He is waiting in your office."

Hochstetter shot a triumphant look at Marya as she came up the steps. "So, it seems that the handover of the prisoner went without a hitch," he remarked.

She shrugged. "What about those brutes from the Underground? Were they at the station? Were they captured?"

A brief, cynical smile twisted Hochstetter's lips. "Do you really intend to continue with this little game, _Fräulein_? Very well, let us ask Biedermann exactly what happened at the station."

He strode into the building, ascended the stairs at a pace which left Marya breathless, and burst into his office.

"...but I assure you, _Herr General_, he will be back at any - " Biedermann, speaking on the telephone, broke off as the door opened. Then he went on. "He has just come in now, _Herr General_. I will put him on."

He held out the receiver. "General Hausenberg, from Berlin."

Hochstetter snatched it from him. "_Guten Abend, Herr General_." Even in his own ears, his voice sounded slightly hysterical, and he cleared his throat before he went on. "I'm honoured that you should call me..."

"Hochstetter!" There was no mistaking Hausenberg's voice, the timbre of which gave the impression that a jackhammer was operating on his vocal chords. "What is this I hear about the French Underground woman?"

Hochstetter felt a slight chill run down his back at the question. Surely nothing could have gone wrong with the transfer. "Yes, _Herr General_, she is on her way to you now. My men took her to the train station and handed her over to the agents from Paris, according to your orders."

"My orders? I gave no such orders." snapped Hausenberg. "Who are these agents from Paris?"

The chill was rapidly turning Arctic. Hochstetter leaned against the desk, his head spinning as he began to realise what had happened. "_Herr General_, I received a call from your office this evening, with instructions to give the woman into the custody of some special agents travelling on the Berlin Express. I spoke to one of your aides, a Captain Schmidt."

"There is no such man on my staff. Hochstetter, if you have let this woman escape, I will have your head," roared the general. "Find her at once!" And the line went dead.

Hochstetter slammed the receiver down, and stood breathing deeply, both hands on the desk for support.

"Is there a problem, _Herr Major_?" asked Biedermann, after the pause had gone on long enough to get uncomfortable.

Slowly, Hochstetter straightened up. "Biedermann," he said, quite mildly, "tell me about these agents on the Berlin Express. Was there anything unusual about them?"

"Nothing, _Herr Major_. Except that they were women, of course, but..."

"Oh, they were women, were they?" Hochstetter's hands clenched, and his jaw tightened. "This didn't strike you as odd?"

"Well..."

"_Dummkopf_! You took an important prisoner to the train station and handed her over to the Underground!"

"There! Didn't I tell you she would be rescued at the station?" Marya, in the doorway, flung up her hands. "Why didn't you listen to me?"

Hochstetter paid no heed to this. "There is no time to deal with your dereliction now, Biedermann," he growled. "The train left at midnight. By now it will be approaching Zuglitz. Call the garrison there, have them meet the train and arrest these traitors."

"_Jawohl, Herr Major_." Biedermann hastened off on his errand, while Hochstetter began pacing back and forth. Marya, arranging herself in graceful indolence in one of the deep armchairs, watched him with eyes half-closed, and the hint of a smile on her lips.

It was some time before Biedermann returned, clutching a folded map in his hands; his manner gave every indication that he would rather enter the lion enclosure at the zoo, at feeding time. "_Herr Major_, I - I beg to report...the garrison commander at Zuglitz has just reportedback. Tiger and her accomplices were not on the train."

Hochstetter ground his teeth. "They must have gotten off before they reached Zuglitz. Am I correct in thinking the Berlin Express only makes one stop between here and there?"

"That is right, _Herr Major_." Biedermann spread the map on the desk. "It stops for two minutes only, at Schmeckhof."

"Schmeckhof!" Marya bounded up from her chair. "That was it. That was where Papa Bear was to meet them."

Overflowing with self-satisfaction, she beamed at Hochstetter. For once, he could find neither menace nor bluster with which to respond. All he had was the sickening realisation that, right from the start, he had been comprehensively hoodwinked, and that Tiger was by now well beyond his reach. As for Marya, shining with pride at how helpful she had been, he couldn't touch her either. She had stage-managed the whole show; but he'd never be able to prove she'd even been in the theatre.


	18. Chapter 18

"What's a gorgeous girl like you doing in a place like this?"

"Good morning, Colonel Hogan," replied Hildegard, without looking up from her typewriter. "Do you want to see the Kommandant? He doesn't want any interruptions this morning. He's catching up on his paperwork."

"Well, I'd hate to disturb his morning nap." Hogan came to plant a soft kiss on the top of her head. "You know, it's been almost a week, and you still haven't told me about your night out with Helga. How was it?"

"It was nice," she said primly.

"Is that all?" He sat on the edge of the desk. "Two of the prettiest girls around, out on the town, and all you can tell me is, it was nice? Come on, there has to be more to it than that."

He was wearing that aftershave again; it was very distracting. So was the hint of laughter in his eyes. But Hilda wasn't giving anything away just yet. "It wasn't a night on the town," she said. "It was just a little get-together. We went to the café, had a glass of wine, and talked."

"Just you and Helga?" He tilted his head, regarding her with that easy, confident smile of his, and her resolve wavered.

"We met some friends," she murmured at last.

He quirked his eyebrows. "Anyone I know?"

Drawn in as usual by his insouciant charm, she hesitated on the brink of telling him the whole story - Marya, Tiger, Helga's arrest and rescue, even Udo's part in the adventure. But before she could even start, the thud of boots on the porch outside broke the spell. By the time the door crashed open, Hogan was already standing in front of the desk, giving a textbook demonstration of petulant importunity.

"But I only want to see him for a couple of minutes," he said. "It's really important."

Hilda picked up her cue at once. "I'm sorry, Colonel Hogan, but the Kommandant doesn't wish to be disturbed. He has to finish his reports by lunchtime."

"Is that so?" snapped Hochstetter, from the doorway. "Well, he can sleep on his own time. No, don't get up, _Fräulein_, I will announce myself. Hogan - " He jabbed a finger towards Klink's office. "You will come with me. That will save me the trouble of having my men drag you back from the barracks."

He turned to the two men who had followed him in. "Allow nobody to enter this building." Without waiting for a reply, he swung round and stormed into the inner sanctum. Hogan winked at Hilda, and strolled after him.

Left in charge, the senior ranked SS man turned a cold glare on his subordinate. "Go and stand guard outside," he ordered. "If anyone gets in here, you will answer to Major Hochstetter."

As soon as the man was gone, Hilda relaxed into a smile. "Good morning, Udo."

He smiled back, slightly tentative, slightly shy. "Hello. It's good to see you." He hesitated briefly, then lowered his voice. "Is it safe to talk here?"

"Yes, it's safe," she replied. The prisoners had the main office bugged, but not this room; and she was pretty sure they made short work of anything planted by the authorities.

Udo gave a sigh of relief. "You look well, Hildegard," he said. "I was worried in case...well, with all that happened..."

"I'm fine, Udo," she interrupted. "And Helga got home safely. I had a postcard from her. She couldn't say much, of course, but she's all right."

His face lit up; but any response he might have made was sent spinning into oblivion by a bellow of sheer elemental rage coming from the inner office.

"Major Hochstetter seems to be in a very bad mood," observed Hilda uneasily. "Did he get into a lot of trouble?"

Udo nodded, rolling his eyes. "His career is hanging by a thread. General Hausenberg threatened to have his head, unless Tiger is found. The only thing in his favour is that some of the other generals want Hausenberg out, and they're using this as a chance to get rid of him, by making him the scapegoat for the whole affair. If they succeed, Hochstetter will be off the hook. But either way, he's determined to track down the Underground cell responsible. It's a matter of personal pride."

"He doesn't suspect you, does he?" asked Hilda.

"No more than he does everyone else. He's been unbearable, all week," sighed Udo. "He's turning over every pebble and fallen leaf in Hammelburg, looking for Tiger or her friends. That's why we're here, wasting our time chasing after Underground operatives. In a prisoner of war camp, of all places."

"Does he think someone here is helping the Underground?" In spite of herself, Hilda's voice trembled a little, at the thought of what would happen if Hochstetter found the proof he was looking for.

Udo noticed her agitation, and hastened to reassure her. "Don't worry, Hildegard. He doesn't have any idea that you were involved. And he knows now that he arrested the wrong woman, because the dossier from Paris finally arrived, with photos of the real Tiger." He gave a sudden boyish snicker. "Except I got to the file before he did, and switched the photos with the ones from a different investigation. He's going to spend the rest of the war looking for someone who already escaped to England a year ago."

"Oh, Udo, how clever of you!" Hilda gazed at him, astonishment merging into admiration. "But what if he finds out?"

"It won't matter," he said, his colour rising. He paused, regarding her with anxious diffidence, then spoke at a rush. "I won't be here. I've put in for a transfer to Berlin."

"You're leaving Hammelburg?" She couldn't hide her startled dismay, and Udo went even redder.

"It's for the best," he mumbled. "Tiger says they need an inside man in the central administration office, so they can get access to the files. I'm good with paperwork, and I've got a clean record with the department, so I'm in with a good chance of the job. I just wish...I mean, it would have been nice..."

He trailed off, too embarrassed to articulate the feelings which were written clearly on his face. Hilda couldn't think of anything to say. She had never really known her old schoolmate, until that night in Hammelburg. Now, just when she wanted to know more, he was going away; and if this new undertaking went wrong, he might never come back. She had a sudden impulse to ask him not to go; she blinked, and looked away.

He had to go, of course. It was right.

"You're not mad at me, are you?" he faltered after a few moments.

"Of course not. I'm proud of you," Hilda replied, looking up again, her eyes very bright.

"You are?" He drew himself up, incredulous delight breaking across his face, as if the sun had just come out after a long darkness. "M-maybe before I leave...if you're free one evening..."

His tentative advance came to an abrupt halt, as the door of the inner office was flung open, and Hochstetter came hurtling out. Apparently the interview had not gone in his favour; he seemed within spitting distance of apoplexy. He glowered at Udo, opened his mouth to bark an order; then just snarled incoherently, and stormed out of the building.

Udo hesitated. "I'll call you," he whispered, and scuttled off after the major.

Hogan had followed Hochstetter out of the office in time to hear this. "Friend of yours?" he asked, as he watched Udo run down the steps to the car. "No, never mind, I shouldn't have asked."

He came back over to the desk, and sat down, right where he'd been a few minutes earlier. "Now, where were we? Oh, that's right, you were just going to tell me all about your night out with Helga." He was still smiling, but there was a slight tension in his voice which hadn't been there before. Something he'd found out in the last ten minutes had set alarm bells ringing. Maybe Hochstetter had said something about his dealings with Marya, or about Tiger being in Hammelburg that night, or about the unknown woman who had been mistaken for her. Hogan wouldn't need more than a hint or two before he started drawing conclusions.

At that moment, Hilda knew what she had to do. If Hogan ever heard the whole story, he'd be furious; with Marya, with Tiger, possibly even with Helga and Hildegard. More than that, he would start worrying about them. It might distract him from his work, and she couldn't let that happen, not after all they'd been through. She looked him straight in the eye, and smiled.

"Oh, it was nothing exciting. Just an ordinary girls' night out," she said.

* * *

><p><em>Note: the photographs Udo substituted on Tiger's dossier came from the file on the Underground member Greta, who escaped to England at the end of "The Battle of Stalag 13" (Season 2). Hochstetter never saw her, although another Gestapo officer who looked very like him did.<em>


End file.
